


The Reign of the Dragon

by FangornMage



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Atonement - Freeform, Avaar rituals, Blood Magic, DLC Legacy, Dragon Cults, Hawke may not be dead, In the Fade, M/M, Mages, Tevinter, The Old Gods - Freeform, Where's Justice?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangornMage/pseuds/FangornMage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corypheus is finally dead and the whole world can breathe a sigh of relief. The Herald of Andraste and his Tevinter lover can truly being their new life together as the Inquisition establishes itself as a legitimate power in the eyes of the nations. It all comes to screeching halt when a wanted apostate shows up demanding answers about the Champion's demise in the Fade. It only becomes more complicated as an ancient cult dedicated to Dumat claims they have finally found a way to resurrect their old God. All the needed was the blood of Dumat's favorite priest. But that's impossible, as the last direct descendant of Archon Darinius died centuries ago. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Gods and Heralds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was in intrigued with the idea of how the Avaar learn magic from spirits after playing the Jaws of Hakkon and this came of it. I always thought that there would be some desire from Anders to free himself of Justice once the mage rebellion started so that he could actually fulfill his role as healer and mend his relationship with Hawke. So, Avaar ritual it was.  
> A trigger warning here, minor mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts. Will likely be expanded on in the next chapter.

Brecker Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, Lord Inquisitor, Enchanter of the Circle of Ostwick, and the Free March's favorite son was considering murdering his favorite dwarf. It was meant to be a lovely night in with his dear handsome Tevinter mage. With all the chaos caused by Corypheus finally calming down, the two had a moment to breath and spend an evening in their quarters with some Nevarran red wine as Dorian read a few choice verses from some Antivan love poetry in that honeyed voice of his. Dorian had assured him there would be only the naughtiest and most sensual ones, perhaps to be repeated in reality once the bottle was emptied.

They had barely finished off the first glass when there was a heavy pounding at the door. Brecker groaned and was tempted to pretend that he wasn’t there. Too bad he wasn’t a rogue and capable of more stealth like Varric or Sera. Then he could have snuck out of the main hall without anyone seeing. As the pounding increased in volume and speed, Brecker opened the door to prevent it from being completely smashed.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your smalls in a knot,” Brecker said with a slight snarl. He set his glass aside and pulled the door open. Cassandra pushed past him and glared at Dorian. The Tevinter mage was lounging on the dark leather chaise by the balcony. Dorian just smiled at the Seeker and continued to drink his wine.

“And good evening to you Seeker, please, come in and pour yourself a glass. It’s not like your interrupting.” Brecker rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh at the red color rising in Cassandra’s face. The poor woman really was too uptight sometimes.

“Shut it Dorian, now is not the time for your so called charm. Inquisitor,” she addressed Brecker, “there is a situation that requires your immediate attention.”

“What is it, Cassandra? Another assassination attempt on Josephine?” Cassandra shook her head.

“It’s better if I show you. Please,” Brecker wanted to put it off until the morning so he could put his evening with Dorian back on track, but agreed. Dorian let out a dramatic sigh, but let Brecker go without further complaint. Brecker followed the Seeker down into the dungeon where he saw Varric waiting for them. The dwarf looked far more pissed off than the Inquistor had ever seen before. So perhaps his initial assumption of assassin was wrong. The last time an assassin had appeared in Skyhold, Varric  and Bianca had put a bolt in their head with a smirk. “Varric, is the prisoner secured?”

“As secure as he’ll ever be. Can’t say I haven’t been wishing for this after the Kirkwall Chantry blew up.” Brecker was a bit confused, but decided to hold his questions. Cassandra took the keys from the jailor and opened the main door. There would only be the three of them, no guards.

They descended deep in the lowest level of the cells. The passage was barely lit by the braziers, casting large shadows over the ancient stone walls. Cassandra grabbed one from the wall near the final door and handed it to the Inquisitor. The lowest levels were only lit during the daytime by a few holes in the walls. At night, it was pitch black.

The door swung open with a loud creak from rusting hinges. It had been unused since Alexius had been transferred to the Redcliffe mages’ custody. Brecker could see the shadowed figure of a human in one of the cells. The person was laying on a thin cot and facing the wall opposite the bars.

“Wake up abomination,” Cassandra ordered and hit the bars with the flat of her sword. The man shot up and turned to face his captors. As soon as his eyes landed on Varric, the man threw himself at the bars. The strange blonde man let out a fierce snarl and clawed at the dwarf through the bars.

“I’ll kill you! I’m going to rip your lying tongue from your head and tear your throat out with my teeth.” Brecker was so shocked by this strange man’s reaction he had to step back. Cassandra and Varric seemed completely unfazed, the Seeker only raising an eyebrow.

“Inquisitor, I assume you are familiar with the story of Kirkwall’s Chantry. Well, this man, this abomination is the one who killed the Grand Cleric and many others.” Brecker was stunned. He had heard of the radical apostate who had blown up the Chantry, but in his imagination he had always pictured a wild, frothing monster that was closer to a demon than man. This man was just a man. A scruffy one with a week or two of stubble on his face and disheveled blonde hair with a few streaks of gray. “We found him attempting to impersonate a mage from the Circle of Hossberg. How fortunate for us that Varric recognized him before he could do any damage.”  The blonde mage gave them all hateful glares, especially Varric.

“Why is he here?” Brecker asked. He was already considering what judgement he would have to render in the morning once Josephine had everything in order. Most likely execution, more than a few wanted this man dead and Brecker considered that it might give some closure to the families of Kirkwall’s victims.     

“Answers,” the apostate snapped, annoyed that they were acting as if he wasn’t even there. “You left Garrett to die in the Fade. I want to know why!” Anders let out a pained sound from the back of his throat, “why? Why is he dead and not you? My Garrett, and you took him from me.” Brecker could see the flash of sadness in Varric’s eyes. Garrett had given them the time to escape the Fade as he sacrificed himself. He had asked Varric to say his goodbyes to his brother and Anders before running headlong into the fight. Brecker knew that Varric had written to Carver following Hawke’s demise, but apparently he had neglected to do the same with Anders. The Champion had not shared Brecker’s views on mages, going so far as to support his lover after the Chantry was blown up. But he had seemed a decent and honorable man, so Brecker could understand why so many mourned his loss.

“He stayed behind so we could close the rift in Adament. If he hadn’t, Corypheus might still be able to summon his demon army. He died a hero.” Brecker tried to offer his condolences to the other mage. The blonde gave him a hard look.

“I don’t want your fucking pity.” He spat angrily, “I want Varric to tell me why he got my Garret killed. It’s his fault!”

“I don’t have to tell you anything Crazypants.” This only seemed to make the former Warden more furious. “You should have stayed away Blondie, maybe gone to the Deep Roads to do whatever it is Wardens do when they’re not blowing people up.” Anders shook his head and released his white knuckled grip on the iron bars of the prison. He turned away from them, shaking a bit as he released a shuddering breath.

“Justice is gone, Varric. It’s just me now.”

“You’re lying. You always said you and that spirit were one.” It was true. For as long as the dwarf had known Anders in Kirkwall, the mage had always claimed he didn’t know where he began and Justice ended. It was by claiming to be able to undo the connection that Anders had been able to obtain the ingredients for the bomb that blew up the Chantry.

“No. Not this time. The Avaar have very different view of spirits that extends to rituals banishing spirits from the possessed.” Anders sat down heavily on the cot, appearing to collapse in on himself a bit now that some of his anger was spent. “One of their Augurs helped me send Justice back into the Fade after I healed one of their hunters. Without Justice influencing my thoughts, I can fully see the repercussions of my actions. Whatever you choose to do with me, I accept my fate. Just please tell me why you let my Garrett die, that’s all I want.”  Despite all the hardship the mage rebellion had brought on him, Brecker pitied this broken man. When he had spoken to Hawke about Anders, the Champion’s eyes had almost glowed with warmth. He had adored his blonde sweetheart. And from the risk that Anders had taken to find some answers about Garrett’s death, it was clearly mutual.

“I’ll have Vivienne confirm your story in the morning. If you are indeed no longer possessed, I will take it into account when judgement is rendered.” The apostate just nodded, no longer interested in his own fate. “Varric, perhaps you should tell him about Adament in the meantime.” The dwarf huffed and shook his head, but didn’t argue with the Inquisitor. He may have held a hard grudge against the mage, but both had suffered a terrible loss and grief could make odd companions. After an awkward pause, Varric started speaking. He started by telling Anders about the odd circumstances in Crestwood that Hawke had helped the Inquisition investigate while Stroud went ahead to the Western Approach. Hawke had been the one to first suspect the mayor of wrong doing, which was later confirmed by several waterlogged journals in the formerly sunken Old Crestwood. Brecker used his mage fire to light up two of the large braziers at the center of the room so that the two wouldn’t be left in complete darkness. The faint blue glow of magefire painted the mage and dwarf in stark relief, highlighting the bags under both sets of eyes. Soon enough the two were completely caught up in the story and paid no attention when the other two humans took their leave.

“You can’t be serious,” Cassandra said with displeasure as they reached the courtyard, “you don’t need time to consider judgement. He killed a hundred people with a tap of his staff and is a self-professed abomination.”

“Former abomination,” Brecker corrected. This had less affect on Cassandra than he hoped, as the Seeker just bit her lower lip in annoyance. “Look, I know he is right about the Avaar being able to banish spirits from their mages. I think it’s worth considering how much influence the spirit had on him.”

“I can’t say I agree with you. But it is your right as Inquisitor to render judgement as you see fit.” Cassandra crossed her arms, “still, I hope you take into account the consequences of what may happen should you decide to not execute the abomination. Many of our allies would be highly displeased if they found out you let him continue drawing breath.”

“Good thing we have Josephine then, she can win them back with those frilly cakes.”

~

Brecker shifted in the Andrastian style throne as Josephine read off the numerous charges against the former Grey Warden. The man was bound with restraints on wrists and ankles, forced to kneel as one of the guards shoved him to the floor. To his credit, he made no noise of protest and kept his head down. He appeared to have heard all he needed from Varric and was ready to accept him impending execution. This tugged at a corner of Brecker’s heart that had long carried regret over allowing the Champion to sacrifice himself. If had been him, how would Dorian have reacted? Would he have even remained with the Inquisition?

“Inquisitor,” Josephine’s sweetly accented voice pulled him from his thoughts. “What sentence would you have carried out?” Brecker leaned forward in his throne as considered all he knew about this mage. He knew the terrible things this mage had done while under the influence of Justice. Vivienne had confirmed that the mage was telling the truth and no longer possessed. It would seem that his claim to feel remorse over the actions Justice had caused him to commit were true if the truth serum Leiliana had administered was in fact working. Among his companions Blackwall, Dorian, and Iron Bull all seemed in favor of sparing his life in favor of putting his magical abilities to use under the Inquisition. It was no surprise that Cassandra, Cullen, Sera, and Vivienne were in favor the death penalty. Varric had surprised him by not offering a strong opinion either way. Yes, the mage had done terrible things, but during their conversation the previous night it had been like talking to someone new. Varric wondered how much of his actions at the end were in fact committed by Justice and not Anders. It was worth considering before a final verdict was made.  Josephine, ever the diplomat, had pointed out that there were pros and cons of either decision. If he died, there might be closure for his victims, but it could also turn him into a martyr for fanatical fringe elements among the remaining rebel mages. Allowing him to live would put his healing and Grey Warden abilities to use, but could earn the ire of many in the Free Marches. It was something that Brecker had spent a better part of the night considering. Even at this moment, he was not sure which was right.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense? Anything at all?” The blonde looked up. Those tired amber eyes spoke of great sorrow and regret. He had seen a similar look in the eyes of Samson’s Tranquil Maddox before the poison took hold. So certain of their fate and so accepting of the afterlife that was breathes away.

“Only that I am sorry. Yes, I was under the influence of a spirit and even began to lose control of my own body at the end. I would lose days of time, waking up and having no idea what I had done.” Anders let out a small sob, remembering the horror he had felt when waking and seeing fresh blood on his hands with no clue how it had gotten there. “Varric has told me about Garrett’s choice and there is nothing left for me in Thedas. I am ready for the gallows if that is your decision.” Maker, if that wasn’t a kick in the stomach.         

“You’re quite eager to dance the hangman’s jig.” Brecker commented as he settled back on his chair. The blonde said nothing, his eyes once more fixated on the stone floor. He was truly ready for the Maker’s judgement.

Everyone in the hall was awaiting the Inquisitor’s judgement. The Orlesian nobles, dwarf masons, the guards, the Chantry sisters, the few servants who had managed to sneak in, and the inquisitor’s inner circle. All certain of the outcome. “I have made my decision,” Brecker announced, standing up from his chair and coming to kneel beside the mage. “In light of the Avaar ritual to remove the spirit and the debt I still owe the Champion, I sentence you to serve the Inquisition for the rest of your life.” There was a collective gasp and more than a few angry shouts from the crowd as Brecker pulled the mage to his feet. The guards were able to restore order and even had to drag a few people from the hall that had started to become to riled up. A few of his companions gave him a nod of approval, but others shot him angry glares that suggested they wished to say more than a few words of protest.

“You can’t be serious,” Anders said in disbelief as the bindings on his wrists and ankles were cut. “Why keep me alive?”

“Hawke saved my life on more than one occasion and you were clearly the most important thing in the world to him.” The two were escorted from the hall by a couple of the guards. Brecker would keep the apostate alive, but he wasn’t going to allow him to roam the keep without supervision. Already he was considering who would be best suited to keep an eye on the former fanatic. “He also mentioned your skills as a healer, told me you somehow saved a small Dalish child that had been crushed by a large boulder.” The boy had been out exploring some of the ancient ruins on the slopes of Sundermount when a small avalanche had sent tons of loose rock hurtling down. Hawke and his companions had been in the area to deal with reports of a darkspawn surface raid. Instead of ogres or hurlocks, they found the near dead boy. He should have perished from the internal bleeding, but Anders was able to close the ruptured blood vessels and knit the broken bones together. The child had survived with little more than a few scars as a reminder. When Hawke had told Brecker the story, the Inquisitor could see the dichotomy of the man. A monster than had blown up a Chantry sanctuary and a hero that tenderly cared for the weak.

“No person would let a child a die if they could stop it,” Anders brushed off the story. He had gotten so used to everyone wanting his head for one act of vengeance he could forget that he had done good in his life.

“You’d be surprised,” Brecker countered, “I’ve met many who wouldn’t even give a dying child, especially an elven one, a second’s consideration. I think far more good can come from you working with us than just lopping off your head.”

“I don’t know, I think it would have been better to give those people justice with my death.” Anders said. He had carried the guilt for four, nearly five years. It had been consuming him for some time.

“The people in the hall were spectators, anyone that might have truly received any justice is across the ocean. What good would it truly do them? Their true concern lies in the uneasy peace between Tevinter and the rest of the south. If Corypheus had been successful in toppling the Orlesian Empire, then they would have been gobbled up in days.” If there was complaint from the Free Marches after word reached them of his verdict, he would have Josephine remind them that they still held their independence because of the Inquisition. This would hopefully silence most of the critics. It would probably be wise to send several batches of those lovely Orlesian pastries the Viscount of Kirkwall and perhaps have the soon to be elected Divine Leiliana counsel the pious prince of Starkhaven should tensions arise. Others might be appeased simply by knowing that it would irritate Prince Vael.

“You have a point, I suppose.” The mage conceded, “still, this will cause you trouble. You may end up wishing you had chosen execution.” From the tone in his voice, it would seem that Anders had almost been hoping that would be his choice. He had arrived expecting a quick death, not a life of service. His mental status appeared stable for the moment, but it was likely Anders was still in shock. He would have the guards keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't attempt self-harm. 

“Perhaps, but I stand by it.” They climbed the remaining stairs to the wing of the castle set aside for healing. It had been one of the first building projects completed after the attack on Haven.        

There were several areas assigned for the different level of injuries and a number of rooms for patients to recover in. Adan, the apothecary from Haven, had been put in charge of running the operation. The cranky man preferred it that way as it meant he didn’t have to deal with most patients and was free to pursue his research. The staff was limited to a few mages with some healing skill and a few lay sisters from the Chantry. They did an admirable job and were able to heal most patients even with the limits of their skills. As much as some may resent the apostate, they would surely welcome his skills as there was always a stream of sick and injured. It was one of the few constants that even a hole in the sky hadn’t changed. People lived, they got sick, and they died. There was an odd comfort that offered, knowing the Maker would welcome his children to his side when time came.

“I will do what I can to make sure you have no regrets about letting me live.” Anders promised before the guards led him away to Adan’s office with orders to have the apothecary put him to work. There was hint of a sad crooked smile on that thin face. “I will do what I can to honor my Garrett’s memory.”

~

He was not sure how long they had kept him in the dark. He only knew that at one moment he was facing the inevitable truth that he would never be free of the Fade. He would be trapped in the mercurial world until he died. His own demise did not bother him so much as the thought of how it would affect his brother and Anders. His brother, still recovering from lyrium addiction, might relapse when news of what happened reached him. And Anders, newly freed from Justice and still finding himself after being influenced by spirit for years, would probably do something rash.

The landscape around him had been as dark and unwelcoming as his thoughts. The spirits of Despair and Sorrow had hounded him with words and shrieks, driving him to near madness. He had been ready to fight them all in one last blaze of glory when he was suddenly ripped out of the Fade.

The people, whoever they were, had used blood magic to bring him back to the mortal realm. He should have fought them, but the confusion of his change in surroundings allowed them an advantage. They had put him in chains that suppressed his magic and placed him in a small, dank cell. They clearly wanted him alive, but Garrett could not fathom why. He had seen the fall of Corypheus and his army in the Fade. Who else could want him? He was left with the question unanswered until the door of his cell was thrown open after an unknown number of days.

Garrett had been blinded by the low light and had to cover his eyes. This must have amused his captors as he heard them laugh at his reaction. He wanted to snap and snarl at them like a caged wolf, but uncertainty stayed him.

“Welcome back to the mortal real, Champion,” a deep baritone bounced off the walls. The accent marked them as Tevinter and given the haughtiness likely a member of the Magisterium. As his eyes adjusted, Garrett could see the tall, cowled man looming over him. He couldn’t see his face or any other distinguishing features, but the man radiated pure menace. “The Children of the Dragon have been eager to make your acquaintance for some time now. It has been too long since the blood of the Eldest was used for it’s holy purpose.” The man knelt down and grabbed Garrett’s tunic, pulling him close enough for him to smell the reek of old blood and rotting flesh that came with each breath. Garrett almost vomited as the hot fumes threatened to claw their way into his lungs. “This world need’s the Old Ones and how fortunate for us we finally found the key to bring them back.”   


	2. Bleeding Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - This chapter contains mention of suicide and attempted suicide. I know this can be a very deep issue for some people, so skip the first part if this subject upsets you. There is some fluff at the end to offset it.

_Darinius, Darinius, the Archon wise_

_Did he believe the Old One’s lies?_

_Dumat, silent lord, his flames did burn_

_The Archon, the god’s favor he did earn_

_Drink, the dragon sang, of blood so dark_

_Carry my power forever more in heart_        

\- A common children's rhyme in Tevinter (from the observations of Brother Genitivi)

There was a backlash from the Inquisitor’s judgement, but it was not nearly as bad expected. Starkhaven did indeed have the worst reaction and even threatened to send their militia to Skyhold if the decision was not reversed. This tantrum was quieted when a missive from an anonymous agent reminding Prince Vael of his attempt to annex Kirkwall and the many powerful allies of the Inquisition that still held a grudge over that act of war.

There was some grumbling in the Inquisitor’s court, but most were silenced after several days of no one being blown to pieces passed. The only person that continued to voice outrage at his judgement was Vivienne. She was infuriated that the person whose actions led to the dissolution of the Circles and the bloody skirmishes between mages and Templars was not tried as a war criminal. So much had been lost over the last four years, lives, trust, and thousands of priceless tomes. A passionate scholar, Vivienne had been working without rest over the last six months trying to find many of the books that had been pilfered from the libraries of the Circles after the war began. She blamed Anders and those other rebellious mages for so much that had been lost.

“I’ve always marveled at the twists and turns your mind takes darling. But this…this goes too far.” Vivienne let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Is this a joke? Am I meant to be laughing?”

“Calm yourself Vivienne,” Brecker asked as he set aside his quill. He had been attempting to write a letter to a cousin of his in the court of Empress Celene to assess the current political mood. The Orlesian court was known for it’s mercurial temperament and never hurt to stay abreast of current whispers.

“Don’t patronize me, I, as the First Enchanter of Montsimmard watched my colleagues lose their lives and reputations because of one man’s actions. Your own mentor, dear Lydia, was murdered because an apprentice inspired by this madness.” Her voice began to rise in pitch, “or are you really just another rebel who played the penitent once it suited your own needs?” Brecker felt heat rise on the back of his neck at the mention of his favorite teacher. He had been there the day she was killed and had not been able to save her. The poor woman’s throat had been slit ear to ear by a shrieking girl little more than a child. Lydia hadn’t even tried to defend herself when her newest apprentice put the blade to her flesh. Brecker had been tempted to do the same to the killer, but allowed her to flee so he could hold Lydia’s hands as she slipped away. He stood up quickly, his chair toppling back and slammed his hands on the solid sylvan wood desk.

“Don’t you dare use Lydia against me!” He snapped, shocking the normally poised mage, “Lydia was more a mother to me than the woman who brought me into this world. I loved her! Maker, I was there when she died, I was holding her as she took her last breath.” He let out a hard exhalation before regaining his normal calm, “be angry at me if it helps, but don’t you even think of using Lydia as a weapon against me. She deserves more respect than that.” Seeing his outburst had given Vivienne pause. She had not seen him lose his temper ever. Not when Haven was destroyed, not when Mother Giselle had attempted to end his relationship with Dorian, not even when Blackwall’s true past came to light. Never.

“That was…crude of me.” Vivienne admitted, “I apologize for using her memory, but not what I feel for this…abomination.” Brecker hauled the chair up and sat back down. He couldn’t argue with her on that point. Part of the beauty of not being Qunari was the freedom of one’s thoughts. If he tried to change them with force he was no better than the Ben Hassarath or a maleficar.

“It is your right,” he conceded, “though I think you two are more alike that you realize.” This only made Vivienne scoff. “You both care about the wellbeing of the mages and have been devoted to good men.”

“Don’t compare my love of Bastien to that monster’s relationship with the Champion. Bastien was a man of honor and I loved him with all my heart. The Champion was clearly used by his lover.” Brecker was no inclined to agree with the First Enchanter. If Hawke was nothing but a tool to be used and later discarded once no longer required, why would the apostate have risked coming to Skyhold for something as small as answers. Before either of them could say anything more, there was a pounding on the door of the Inquisitor’s study. It was flung open without invitation.

“Your Worship,” it was one of Adan’s assistants, a young elf woman named Alana or Elana. She was sweating and panting heavily, having sprinted all the way from one end of the castle to the other. She almost fell over before plopping down in one of the chairs by Brecker’s desk. “There’s been a situation. I was told to fetch you and Mother Giselle immediately.”

“What could be so terrible that needs both the Revered Mother and myself? Did another of our patrols get ambushed by rogue darkspawn?” There had been the rare small surface raid over the last few months. Most of the time, they were easily dispatched by the Inquisition’s well trained soldiers. However, there were times when they would be overwhelmed and someone might contract Blight sickness. In those situations, the Revered Mother would come to perform final rites as the Inquisitor would speak to the dying men and women to insure them their families would be looked after. It didn’t happen often, but it always took it’s toll on the mage. If Dorian wasn’t there to comfort him, he would likely wallow in a depression for days. The Tevinter mage always knew what to say and would curl up with him in their bed until the weight of the world was a bit lighter.

“No your Worship.” She answered, “please, it will be better for Master Adan to tell you.” Reluctantly, Brecker agreed and promised Vivienne that they would finish their conversation another time. Stopping through the reflecting gardens to gather Mother Giselle, the three were greeted at the door to the healing wing by a very agitated Adan. As he soon as he had them back in the privacy of his office, Adan told them the nature of his concern. The apostate Anders had attempted to kill himself.

~

For the first few days, Adan and his people had no issue with their newest addition. He was quiet and performed his duties with no complaints. He was very good with the youngest residents of Skyhold. One of the kitchen maid’s boys was attempting to climb a tall tree near the training grounds and fell when one of the branches broke under his feet. He had broken an arm and twisted an ankle to the point where the tendon nearly ripped. He was rushed to the healers by his crying mother and refused to let anyone touch him. The other healers were pushed the point of considering the use of a sedative.  Then just as the boy’s mother about to yell at her boy, a tall blonde man in robes conjured a faint blue wisp that danced around the child’s head. The boy’s eyes had widened in awe as the wisp tapped the tip of nose. He was so distracted by the light that he never noticed the mage knitting the bones of his arm back together. The light blipped out and the boy glanced down to see his arm wasn’t throbbing anymore. He didn’t put up a fuss when the mage set his ankle and even threw his arms around the blonde’s neck when he was done. Anders hadn’t known quite how to react, just patting the boy’s back stiffly until the maid was able to get her son to let go and thanked the healer for everything. After seeing him deal the difficult patient, the other healers  When it was clear that he had no intention of running or blowing up the keep, his guards relaxed a bit. It was this lack of supervision that led to the incident.    

It had been one of the herbalists that had discovered the unconscious mage. She had been bringing the mage more elfroot to make some poultices and elfroot potions for the med kits the scouts carried with them on long trips. Anders had always made them for Garrett back in Kirkwall, even succeeding at making the elfroot potions taste edible with a dash of crushed mint. When he had done the same for some of the soldiers of the Inquisition, the rest began asking for the same treatment.

The herbalist had dropped her basket when she pushed open the door to find the mage sprawled in crumble heap on the floor.  At first, the young lady had been unable to tell if he were alive or dead. She rolled the mage onto his back to find his lips tinged blue and broken vial on the floor next to him. She brought the vial to her nose and sniffed. It was a concentration of deathroot toxin.

Acting quickly she grabbed an antidote made of rashvine and amrita vein. She poured the vial down his throat, his body swallowing on reflex rather than choice. The blue tinge of his lips faded as he coughed and shook as the antidote kicked in. As soon as they could get him upright, Anders was moved to a private room with a guard placed outside. Afraid he would attempt to harm himself again Adan had administered a sedative. He didn’t know how to proceed from there, as Adan was not a people person. A pile of paperwork or research a new use for dragonthorn, that he could handle. Suicidal mages, not so much. The Revered Mother would likely know what words to say, so he would let her and the Inquisitor handle it.

Mother Giselle gave the guard a nod and asked that they not be disturbed. The guard saluted and moved to let them pass.

“My child,” she said in a soothing voice as she sat down on the bed where mage was curled up in a ball facing away from the door. “I have heard the most troubling news. Is it true that you attempted to take your own life?” The mage stayed turned and didn’t answer. The Revere Mother and the Inquisitor shared a look.

“The Revered Mother and I came because we were concerned,” Brecker said, hoping that Anders might respond to him.

“Why?” Anders didn’t turn to face them, though it might have been due to lethargy from the sedative if the monotone voice was an indication. “Why do you care?”

“Suicide is a terrible thing my son,” Mother Giselle said, encouraged that he had actually acknowledged their presence. “It is a grave offense in the eyes of the Maker…”

“Worse than murder? What is one more life on my hands? At least it will give some people relief.”

“Suicide is murder my son. Murder of the self, a sin of pride that would cost your immortal soul.” The Revered Mother attempted to place a soft hand on the mage’s leg, but he flinched and curled tighter. As much as he hated the idea, it was time for Brecker to invoke the Champion’s name. Hopefully it would cause Anders to turn from his self-destructive path.

“Is this what Hawke would want?” The room was silent after the words left Brecker’s tongue. The Revered Mother was shifting her eyes between the two, hoping the Inquisitor had reached the mage.

“Garrett is dead. He doesn’t want anything. Not anymore,” Anders muttered, slowly sitting up to face them. His eyes were glassy from the sedative, but the faint flame of anger glowing in those amber eyes. It wasn’t quite what Brecker had been hoping for, but any emotion what better than complete apathy.

“If he were alive…” before he could finish his sentence a burst of telekinetic energy shattered the glass lamp on the small bedside table. The shards hurtled outwards and one nicked the Inquisitor’s cheek, sending a small trickle of blood down his face. It was only a minor superficial cut so it stung more than anything.

“He’s gone. Dead. Because of Varric and his Makerdamned hero complex. All I wanted was to be at his side again.” Seeing the drop of blood on the beige and silver tunic, Anders sealed the wound with a flick of his fingers. Brecker ran a finger over the now smooth skin, surprised at how little effort it took for the mage to fix him even with the massive tranquilizer in his blood. Then again, Anders was a full-fledged Enchanter from the Circle with more than a few years under his belt. Brecker had barely begun his tenure as a junior Enchanter when the Circles rebelled. Much of his own magic had been learned on the run rather than with a tutor. “You know one of the greatest lies in the Chantry? That all of us are equal in the eyes of the Maker, nothing to make any of us better than anyone else. It’s a lie. Mages are just tools to be used and discarded. You’ll see soon enough.”

~

Brecker stood outside the mage’s room contemplating what to do with Anders. The mage was in a deep depression that no amount of kind or stern words could pull him out off. He should have seen this coming, the mage had been willing to toss himself head long into a mission that was almost certainly ended with his neck in the hanged man’s noose.

“So much pain…every breath it’s like a knife..deeper and deeper,” Brecker nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard that ethereal voice so close to this ear. Cole, the spirit, had a bad habit of popping in and out without announcing himself. It had gotten even worse once the spirit had fully embraced his nature after Adament. “Justice…he didn’t mean it. Not at first. He wanted to help. Like me.”

“Cole? Are you feeling Anders’ pain?” Brecker asked. The blonde boy spirit nodded and shifted back and forth on his feet.

“Yes, his pain is loud. His soul…it has many wounds.” Cole tucked his chin as he reached out to the mage’s spirit. “Justice didn’t want to return to the Fade and so he tore at me when he tried to stay. Garrett…Garrett made the wounds hurt less. It didn’t feel like theywere bleeding wounds when Garrett held me… Better with him close by… Why did he leave, he knew I needed him…. Garrett, love, love, oh Maker…not him, not him…” Cole gripped his head, pulling the hair so hard it was nearly torn out, and rocked a little as the tidal wave of another being’s pain hit him. This ramble finished with a few repetitions of Hawke’s name and a barely audible choking sob. Slowly, the spirit came back to himself and had a confused look.

“Cole? Are you alright?” Brecker had never seen the spirit express such a strong reaction to another’s pain before. Normally, he would mutter and ramble with little physical action.

“I am…better. He needs me. I can help.” Cole insisted, “his wounds, they are sickening him. Justice hurt him, hurt him bad. Justice was angry…betrayed. But he wanted to hurt Garrett. He made a choice, he couldn’t lose Garrett so he had Justice expelled.”

“And you can fix them? Make his pain go?” Brecker asked hopefully. He didn’t want the mage to attempt to take his life again because of a pain he could take it away.

“Some, not all. Make it bearable, can’t take all. It would destroy his memory of Garrett.”  Cole said, touching the closed door, “should I help now?”

“Do it.”

~

_Garrett had been watching over the prone form of his love. Anders had been comatose for almost four days. The Avaar augur, a woman named Yvenna Stormwind, had told him that Anders would be unconscious for a time as he recovered from the ritual. He had thought it would only be a few hours, a day at the most. When two days had passed, Garrett had become worried. The augur assured him that the ritual had worked and Anders would awaken when he was ready._

_“Love,” Garrett took Anders’ limp hand and held it against his cheek. He kissed the open palm and brought it to rest over his heart. “I need you to wake up and come back. You can’t just…,” he tightened his grip on Anders’ hand. “Not after everything we’ve been through. Not when we finally have a chance at peace.” No response, not even a change in his breathing. Maybe it was foolish to hope for a string of words to bring Anders back, but what else could he do? He glanced up from Anders’ still face when he heard the rustle of the thick wool curtain that served as the hut’s door. Yvenna had returned from checking her traps with a few plump rabbits and a nug. They would eat well and have full bellies for the next few days, thanks to whatever god or goddess Yvenna choose to give the credit to. “He’s been asleep for four days. How much longer?”_

_“He will wake when it is time. No sooner. No later. Here,” Yvenna thrust one of the rabbits into Garrett’s hands. “Clean, be useful.” She squatted down to examine the unconscious mage. She opened his mouth and sniffed. Making a small clucking sound with her tongue, she grabbed a mortar and pestle. In the mortar she poured in a few dollops of honey, the comb, a spoonful of goat milk, and crushed in a pinch of ginger root. When she had mixed it all together a small amount was placed on Anders’ tongue. “This will keep him alive. Honey is a gift of the Lady of the Skies, she will guide him back should he wander too close to her realm. You Lowlanders, for all your talk about Makers and Brides, lack faith.”_

_“I have faith,” Garrett commented as he removed the slippery innards from the rabbit and set them aside for Yvenna to use for her divination. “My faith just happens to be more in people than gods. At least I can predict the moods of mortals.”  She plucked the liver from the pile of organs and gave a small grin._

_“Your faith is about to be rewarded.” No sooner had she said this did Anders’ eyes open. His eyes flicked from side to side before settling on Garrett. Those amber eyes lost their fear and warmed as both smiled._

_“Love,” his voice was ragged from his throat being so dry. “It’s quiet.” For the first time in almost a decade, it was just his own thoughts filling his mind. Strange, he had almost forgotten what that felt like. “He’s gone now.”_

_“Just you and me then? Good,” Garrett pressed a small kiss to Anders’ lips, “I always hated sharing.” He received a snort and a small swat for his bad joke._

_“We can both be selfish then.” Yvenna just rolled her eyes at the two and muttered in her native tongue as she left the hut to get away from their overly sweet affection. It was just like Lowlanders to be soft and prone to proclamations of undying love. It was enough to make even the strongest stomach queasy._

Garrett was forced back into the waking world by a hard boot to his stomach. He coughed and hacked as his stomach threatened to expel what little there was in it. He had been chained to the wall, his arms stretched painfully over his head and a thick chain around his neck that chaffed terribly. He was certain that it had cut into the skin as trickles of blood would sometimes trail down his torso.

“Wake up, the master wants to see you.” It was one of the cowled figures that made up his group of captors. None ever showed their face and it was impossible to guess their exact numbers. Garrett glared and spat at the robed figure’s feet. It earned him hard slap across his face. “Next time I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“As if you could,” Garrett snarled, hoping to bait the figure into doing something stupid. The man, if it was a man, appeared to have a short fuse. In his experience, those with the worst temper were usually prone to rash actions. “Kicking a man in chains, I’ve met Chantry sisters with more balls. Pathetic.” The man let out a wordless growl and was ready to kick again when a burst of magic sent him hurtling against the opposite wall. His head cracked against the stone and his neck was snapped in an instant. A small puddle of blood began to pool around the broken figure as the limbs twitched their last convulsions.

“Such a shame,” a masculine voice said. Unlike the others Garrett had seen so far, this man did not cover his face. He was an older man with a long, but groomed salt and pepper beard that framed a hard mouth. He was just a hair or two taller than Garrett and looked down over an aquiline nose. “Cassius was such a devoted believer.” He clucked his tongue in a manner one might expect from a schoolmaster dealing with a naughty child. “Still, his instructions were clear and I cannot allow disobedience. It would just create a mess.”

“Forgive me if I don’t shed a tear.” Garrett shot back with heavy sarcasm, “but it’s hard to weep over your jailers.” This made the man let out a guffaw and only confused Garrett. Was he in a lair of complete maniacs?

“My dear boy, we aren’t your jailors. We’re your friends. We saved you from spending an eternity in the Fade.” Garrett quirked an eyebrow and looked up at his bound wrists. “For your own protection, I assure you. We have been searching for you for so long, it wouldn’t do to have you disappearing again.”

“Whatever your plans, I want no part.” He narrowed his eyes, hoping it would cause the man to understand the potentially precarious state he was placing himself in if he kept the Champion captive. The man was not fazed by Garrett’s heavy glare. Instead he removed a key from his belt and undid the restraints on Garrett’s wrists. He uncurled the chain that was attached to the collar around Garrett’s neck and tugged. Garrett nearly gagged as he was dragged to his feet.

“I always admire a man with spirit, but you really have no choice in this matter. Not if you want your brother and warden lover to stay alive.” The blood drained from Garrett’s face, “oh, I guess we should have told you. Our people have been keeping an eye on…what were their names? Oh, Carver and Anders, that’s it. It would be a shame for me to tell them they have to slit their throats.” Realizing he could not risk the lives of his remaining family, Garrett went quiet and allowed this strange mad man to lead him out of the dungeons.    

~

“Is that blood?” Dorian asked as he looked up from his newest read. He snapped it shut and laid on top of the pile of books near his side of the bed. He had a rather large stack of books that kept growing by their bed. Most Dorian had read at least twice, but didn’t have to heart to shelve.

“Yes, it was just a scratch,” Brecker tried to wave it off, but Dorian wouldn’t have it. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and walked over to examine the dried stain. Dorian then touched his cheek, unable to find any break in the skin. “Already healed, see.”

“I see, but how did it happen? Do I have to go fight someone to defend your honor, amatus?” Dorian half-joked as he wrapped his arms around Brecker’s waist.

“As much as I love the image of you dueling in defense of my virtue, it’s entirely unnecessary. Just a small accident with a lamp.” The Tevinter mage raised an eyebrow, surely all sorts of odd scenarios were playing out in his head. The mighty Herald of Andraste defeated by a lamp? Not even Varric could make up such silly bull.

“Such a shame, I was hoping to duel someone. Maybe you’d allow me to sweep you off your feet once I win?” This had both laughing. As much as Brecker would love to be literally swept off his feet, he was taller than Dorian by a full head and half. The laughter died down as they rested their foreheads together, breath mingling and ghosting against their lips.

“Any chance you’ll allow me to sweep you of yours, darling?” Dorian pulled back far enough kiss him and took one of his hands to lead him back to their bed. He had a playful glint in his eyes that held promise for a fun evening.

“What a ridiculous question, amatus.” Dorian purred as his knees bumped against the bed frame and both tumbled backwards onto the soft mattress. He wrapped a hand around Brecker’s neck and pulled him down to lie fully on top of him. “You already did, the first moment we met.”


	3. True Kings and Tyrants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but helps set up the main story. For the two statues mentioned in the story, look up the Argonath from the Fellowship of the Rings. Also, if you haven't, look up Darinius on the wiki or in the World of Thedas vol. 2. A fascinating character who reminds me of both Caesar and Romulus. I can totally see Dorian fanboying over him.  
> Also, need ideas for a couple of names you might hear in the Imperium. Suggestions?

_'She wields the broken sword and separates true kings from tyrants...Of What Do I Speak?'_

_-From the Journal of Aeden Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, on his pilgrimage to the Temple of Sacred Ashes_

Brecker was a bit anxious about seeing Anders again the following morning. Cole had done what he could to ease his pain without affecting his mind. It wasn’t easy as the two were so tightly entwined. Brecker had waited outside the room, not wanting to interfere, until the spirit reappeared. Cole had looked even less corporeal than usual. He had always been a bit less solid since Brecker and Solas had helped him embrace his true nature. It became harder for most to remember him or even notice him. There was even a few instances of the Inquisitor walking right past Cole without even seeing him. While Varric was unhappy that Cole would never be a person, Cole seemed much happier that he was able to help people more.

“I helped. A bit. Still hurts, but not like stabbing, clawing at everything.” Cole gave a small smile, pleased with his progress. It had been draining, but he had done what he needed. As a spirit of compassion, he felt no greater joy than being able to alleviate another’s suffering.

“Does he still want to die?” Brecker said, hoping the worst was now behind them.

“No, not right now. It hurts, but Garrett wouldn’t like it. He needed to have Garrett tell him no. I reminded him of the promise.” Cole drifted a bit more from himself, voicing a memory from deep in Anders’ consciousness. “Anders, so far away from me even when I hold him…The madness of Meredith, don’t let her get to you…I told you I’d always be yours… I don’t care what the De Launcets or Von Markens say about us… nothing is stronger than love. The bad man was right, there’s nothing stronger than love. Don’ leave…Father, Mother, Bethany, all gone, not you too…” The jumbled snippets of a dozen desperate pleas that Garrett had tried to use to protect his lover from himself.

“Cole? What was that?” Brecker asked once Cole had stopped speaking.

“Memories…lots of them. They keep Garrett close, helps the sadness. Anders would be unhappy if I took them, even if they are painful.” Cole had done all he could. Anders had resisted his help at first as he was still wary of trusting another spirit after his long mental cohabitation with Justice. He was certain that like Justice, Cole would influence him to do horrible things in the name of a seemingly ideal cause. Cole had apologized for all the hurt Justice had done and stated how wrong it was. If Cole had ever met Justice in the Fade before crossing over to the White Spire, he could no longer recall. But he didn’t seem interested in meeting after feeling the damage the other spirit had done. Justice had used the mage and nearly burned him out by the time he was expelled. If Justice or another spirit were to try to possess the mage, it would probably kill him. Aware of this fragile state, Cole had only used the lightest of touches when soothing Anders’ soul. It had been a much more time consuming process than his usual method, but the spirit would not risk killing the mage. Lord Seeker Lambert was wrong about him, Cole was not a demon.

The mage had fallen asleep as soon Cole was done and remained so for the rest of the day. When Brecker had returned to check on him, the room was empty. The Inquisitor briefly panicked before he heard the mage talking to someone in one of the rooms the healers used for examination. He peaked in to see the mage cleaning a rather nasty wound on a scout’s leg. The scout hissed each time he swiped the wound to remove dirt and dead tissue, but stayed still. Once the wound was clean, he held a hand over the gash and the skin began to heal. He stopped just before the wound was fully closed and covered the small cut with honey before wrapping gauze over it. The scout examined the dressing, thanked him and went on her way.

“You could have completely closed that,” Brecker noted as he came in. Anders was putting away the excess linen and closing the honey jar.

“She wanted a scar to show off to her fiancé when she returns home. The honey will keep it from getting infected and your people are more than capable of caring for themselves. I wouldn’t worry.” The mage was in a better mood, not a chipper one, but not wallowing in depression either. “Come by to make sure I didn’t jump out of a window?” Well, never let it be said that the mage was one to beat around the bush.

“I wanted to see how you were feeling. Cole said he had been able to help you yesterday.” The former warden stroked the few weeks’ worth of growth on his chin as he considered the statement.

“The spirit of Compassion, Cole, whatever you want to call him. He did help, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. My experience with Justice has made me wary of spirits, you understand?” Brecker gave an affirmative nod. Hawke had talked briefly about Justice when they had met. The spirit had a place in the Fade where it wasn’t influenced by human anger or resentment. But when it came to the mortal realm, it had changed into something much darker. Maybe not a true demon, but it was no longer the spirit Anders had met in the Blackmarsh. Justice had begun to change the moment he had been thrown into Warden Kristoff’s body. The dead man’s emotions had lingered like an afterimage in his flesh and Justice experienced a taste of human nature. Sorrow had been the most prominent as Kristoff had died thinking of his beloved Aura. When he had been taken into Anders, the mage was being attacked by Templars. Rage and fear had overwhelmed the spirit and began the transformation into Vengeance. Anders doubted the inquisitor had seen the corruption of a benign spirit and hoped he never would. It was heartbreaking, utterly heartbreaking to see something so pure rot. “Cole, he’s not like Justice. Having Compassion requires an understanding of mercy.” Anders sat down on the stool by the examination table, “Justice doesn’t need mercy to be carried out. It’s a hard virtue that can easily turn into vengeance. Too bad I didn’t understand that when I agreed to let Justice take me. Maybe if a spirit of Compassion or Mercy had been there instead of him…useless speculation now,” Anders let the many what ifs go.

“You seem to know a lot about spirits.” Brecker said, hoping the mage would keep talking. It reminded him of his conversations with Solas, wherever he was now. The elven hedge mage had disappeared after apologizing for the orb. It was only later that Brecker had fully understood why. It had made him so angry to think one of those he called a friend had helped unleash Corypheus. If they ever met again, Solas had a lot of things to answer for.  

They had lost a valuable resource when Solas fled. Solas had been their expert on the Fade and it’s mysteries. He wanted Anders to trust him and understand that the inquisition was the right path for him. There was much potential if he became truly committed.

“I spent almost ten years with one in my head.” Anders tapped his temple, “hard to ignore them like that. Truth is, spirits are very simple. They embody a virtue or vice and act on it without reservation. They don’t have the complex thoughts or emotions we have. It makes it hard for them to understand the mortal realm and why so many can be corrupted into demons.” Anders stated, a bit surprised that Brecker didn’t know this already. “Did they not teach you this in the Circle? Enchanter Wynne hammered this into our heads at every lecture.”

“Maybe, I was always more interested in setting things on fire.” Both let out a small laugh.

“The Herald of Andraste is an arsonist. Maker, they’ll never put that in the history books.”

~

_It was barely sunrise when Garrett woke up. He smiled as he curled closer to the sleeping man in his arms. It had taken quite a bit of persuasion to get Anders to accompany him out of Kirkwall to the forests at the base of Sundermount. Garrett had always found peace when he would take short day trips to get away from the pressures of Kirkwall life. He wanted to share it with his new lover and had coaxed him out of his clinic despite Justice’s grumblings._

_Anders was not one for camping, preferring a mattress to the hard ground. But Garrett’s puppy eyes were too much for him to say no to. With only a small amount of grumbling, he helped pack the tent and their sleeping rolls._

_They spent the day doing a bit of hiking. After setting a few snares to catch dinner, they decided it warm enough to swim.  Garrett knew of a mountain stream that was warmed by the sun to the perfect temperature. They stripped down to their skins and dove in. The water was so clear they could see the smooth stones along the bottom glinting in the light. Garrett loved the shade of dark gold Anders’ damp hair. It complimented his amber eyes just well as the golden red when it was dry. Seeing the way Garrett was staring, Anders swam over to him. He licked his wet lower lip before kissing Garrett. He let out a small moan when Garrett gripped his damp hair and urged him closer. Anders wrapped his arms around Garrett’s broad chest, pressing them close enough to feel his heart beat._

_They stayed there for a while, holding each other. Eventually, they dried off and redressed to head back to their camp. They collected some wild mushrooms and sweet onions. They checked Garrett’s traps to find a few rabbits. They cleaned and cooked the rabbits, stuffing them with the mushrooms and onions for a delicious meal. They spent some time watching the stars come out. It didn’t take long for the whole sky to light up._

_Later, they fell asleep wrapped so tightly together not even a Fade spirit could slip between them. Garrett had spooned behind Anders, nuzzling the back of his neck and whispering ‘I love you’ before the Fade enveloped him._

_He loved the way Anders fit so perfectly against him. Despite Anders being the taller one, Garrett was broader and heavier. He could spoon the taller man quite easily with an arm and leg wrapped around Anders.  Perfect, like the Maker himself had carved them from the same mold._

_He traced the sickle shaped birthmark on top of Anders’ shoulder. It had always fascinated him, the contrast of the dark brown mark and the rest of Anders’ pale skin. There was smattering of other freckles and tiny blemishes across the angled and wiry topography of his love’s body, but none held his interest like this crescent. He pressed a kiss to it, waking his dearest companion._

_Anders slowly opened his eyes and smiled. Garrett brushed a lock of golden hair behind his ear and kissed the corner of his mouth._

_“Good morning.” A soft laugh as he wrapped his arm tighter around Anders. It was a beautiful sound he wanted to hear every day from the rest of their lives._

_“Good morning, love.”_

Garrett was awoken by a jolt of the wagon. After being dragged from his cell, the robed man had led him up a passage with steep stairs. It was dark even with the few lit sconces, Garrett almost tripping and breaking his neck more than once. Eventually, the passage led outside where there was a horse drawn wagon with a cage. Inside the cage was several other men and elves, all wearing collars that identified them as the property of a magister. They barely paid him any attention as he was pushed in. Their minds already completely broken from years of crushing oppression.

They had been in the wagon for several days, traversing what appeared to be part of the Imperial Highway. There was a number of crumbling stone columns and cracked cobbled stones that would toss the wagon’s cargo each time one of the wheels dipped. Garrett had attempted to get any of his fellow captives to speak, but they ignored him. With the chains binding his magic and unable to use his hands, Garrett had decided to bide his time. Eventually they would stop somewhere and perhaps it would offer him a chance to slip his captors.

The robed man and several of his acolytes were riding ahead and behind the wagon on dracolisks rather than horses. The beasts snapped at him and the other captives whenever they trotted close enough. Their teeth seemed razor sharp and he was certain that one of them had snorted fire. They could be a problem if their riders turned them loose on a runaway.

There was another jarring bump that sent Garrett crashing head first into one of the cage bars. His ears rang from the force of the impact and his vision began tunneling to little pinpricks. In wavering vision he saw a pair of statues standing on either side of the highway. Carved from white marble and seeming tall enough to pierce the sky, they stood guard over the ruined road. The two men extended their left hands with palms forward in a gesture of defiance. In their right, each held a bladed mage staff. It was in passing in the shadow of these great statues that Garrett heard one of the slaves speak for the first time.

“Porta Regis Altum…gateway of the kings.” It was the last thing that Garrett heard before everything turned black.

~

-12 TE (6393 FA)

_"My King," Darinius was staring off into the distance at the fortified island. It was his sacred duty to claim the throne. The great dragon Dumat had come into his dreams and promised to reward him should the soporati pretender be removed. It did present quite the challenge. The grand city of Minrathous had never been conquered by any army and those that had tried were as successful as waves splashing against rock. The waves might wear away the rock after a few thousand years, but the High King of Neromenian did not have the luxury of immortality. They could not hope to win by siege so another plan was hatched. If they could not take the city with steel, they would take it with cunning. His most trusted confidante, a fellow mage and soldier, Themistocles was to accompany him and six other guards into the city._

_With a silvered tongue and a few pretty gifts, he had bought his traitorous uncle's favor. Tarsian, the usurper, had slain his birth mother just after she had delivered him to salvation. She had placed her newborn son in a basket and set him down the river, hoping her god Razikale would watch over him. She had then fought her brother in the temple sanctuary, only to be slain. Against all odds, the baby had survived and been nurtured by a priestess of Dumat. Upon his ascension to the throne of Neromenian, his adoptive mother had returned his inheritance. A piece of the signet ring every High King of Tevinter had worn since the founding. She had cried and begged him to know she had loved him as her own blood. Darinius did not doubt her love and kissed her cheeks, proclaiming that he would always honor her as his true mother. Calpurnia had died just a few days later, a smile on her face. Her son made sure to bury he with all the honors befitting the mother of a king. He promised her spirit that he would retake Tevinter and build a shrine to Dumat in her name._

_"We are ready my King," Darinius turned from the city to see the seven men kneeling. They all slammed their gauntlet covered fists against their breastplates in a loud, unified clang. "Whether the Gods will see us alive or greet us among the dead when the sun sets, we stand with you until the very end." Darinius couldn't help but feel empowered by hus people's trust. They were soon to walk into the snake pit and they feared nothing._

_"Arise, my brothers," He ordered, "and see before you the city where the traitor has gone against the will of the Gods. He murdered the true Queen in the sanctuary of Razikale, moments after she delivered her only child. Even weakened, she still had the strength to save her son before her last breath. Her noble sacrifice will be honored and her murderer will face the full fury of the Gods. Arise," the men go to their feet, "we enter the city under Dumat's protection and shall have no fear. The gods are with us this day, let us make them proud." There was a cheer from the men, all eager to take what was rightfully theirs. They would enter the city as visitors and leave as lords._

_~_

Brecker left his dear archivist in their bed as he woke up with the slowly rising sun. Dorian had been quite thoroughly ‘inquisited’ the night before after bringing up a newly opened bottle of Neverran wine and a tray of cold cuts and cheeses to pair it with. The Tevinter mage had insisted it was his job to educate his lover on enjoying the finer things in life. If those things included a naked, grinning Dorian, who was Brecker to complain? The most important lesson of the evening turned out to be that sweet wine went perfectly with the slight saltiness of Dorian’s olive skin. With memories of last night flashing through his head, Brecker made sure to let Dorian sleep. He grinned as Dorian turned over and buried his nose in Brecker’s pillow. Dorian could be such a sweetheart when he choose to put away all that sarcasm.

After dressing in his usual beige and silver uniform, he descended down to the main hall. Cullen and Josephine were waiting for him, discussing the reports that Leliana’s network had sent them. The situation in Thedas was more stable now that Corypheus was dead and the Orlesian Civil War finished, but many nations still looked to the Inquisition for guidance. The Free Marches and Nevarra had been facing political trouble before the Breach, with spats between the city states and the questionable sanity of King Markus. It kept them busy, but at least Josephine seemed to revel in the intrigue even if it frustrated the rest of them.   

They were passing through Josephine’s office on the way to the war room when there was the sound of a person shouting and a body slamming into a wall. The three ran to see what was going on. Cullen threw the door open to reveal a woman crouching over the body of a recently arrived Orlesian ambassador. Josephine was calling for the guards as Cullen unsheathed his sword in preparation of an attack.

“Put away your sword Commander,” the woman said as she straightened up. She was taller than the average woman with tawny hair that had streaks of silver in it. She held out the mask the ambassador had been wearing and pointed downwards. “Perhaps, my lord, you should ask your ambassador to confirm this man’s identity or rather, lack of.” Josephine, now with three guards behind her, cautiously came forward. She looked down at the body.

“Wait,” she sounded almost panicked, “this is not Comte Le Roche.” The guards began to stand down now that it became apparent that this was not the murder of an Inquisition ally. Josephine shook her head, puzzled how they had been fooled. She had spoken with the Comte years before in Val Royeux and had been certain that when the man arrived the previous day it was the same person. Their voices had been identical, how could that be? “Who is this man?” Josephine demanded from the strange woman.

“A would be assassin, merely a symptom of the problem” she said dismissively, turning her full attention to the Inquisitor, “his target was you my lord and he will not be the last. Perhaps you and I can speak more at length of this enemy once your people remove the trash.” She nudged the dead man’s face with her boot and tisked, “three days of tracking the bastard, he almost gave me the slip in Gherlen’s Pass. Could have ended quite badly if I hadn’t picked up the trail.” Yes, it could have ended with the Inquisitor or one of his advisors having a blade shoved in their gut.

“Quite badly,” Brecker agreed, “I am in your debt my lady.”

“You can drop the chivalry your worship. There is little time for ceremony when a fanatical cult it calling for your death.” Though he should have been used to people wanting him killed, Brecker was still taken back to hear a whole cult was attempting to take him out. He could already sense a headache beginning to build behind his eyes.

“Bugger.”  


	4. The End is the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, the crest is based on the ouroboros. The snake that eats it's own tail, which can represent rebirth or renewal in in some cultures. Still exploring the ancient tevinter angle a bit more in this chapter, so I hope you guys are enjoying it. Thanks for all the kudos everyone, makes me want to give you all big hugs

“Your Worship, please excuse the mess,” the woman said as she stepped over the imposter’s corpse, “normally, I’m much more discreet, but this bastard was planning to stick a knife in your back. Literally.” She stooped down and pulled back the sleeve to reveal a stiletto. On the pommel was a crest with a dragon curled in a circle as it began to consume itself. She turned the body onto it’s stomach pulled down the back of his shirt to reveal a brand in the same shape at the base of the neck. Only someone truly dedicated to a cause would burn it into the skin.

There was a murmur from Josephine and Cullen, both wondering how a would be assassin had been able to slip past their spies. Leliana would investigate her spy network to see if there was a rat and deal with any traitor in the ranks. Until then, everyone would be sleeping with an eye open and a dagger under their pillow.

“It would appear I am in your debt Lady…” the woman gave a small chuckle at the Inquisitor’s chivalry. The manners of a noble born were deeply ingrained in Brecker even though he had spent little time with his aristocratic family.  

“Oh my, aren’t you a sweet one.” She gave a playful wink, “my name is Myra, and I am no lady your Worship. Just a woman who plays the lute and isn’t too terrible with a blade.” She gave a bow and the mirth in her eyes vanished. She straightened her back and held shoulders back with hands clasped behind her back. Seeing the quick shift from coy to disciplined was enough to give Brecker whiplash.  

“You’re a bard.” She nodded, “do you work for the Empress then?” The Inquisition had a strong relationship with the Orlesian Empire and Celene had sent some of her people to him before.

“No my lord, I am not part of the Game. I am one of the many eyes of her Royal Highness, Queen Anora. And I come with grave news.” She removed a scroll with a broken wax seal from her satchel and handed it to Brecker. “The Venatori may no longer have Corypheus to lead them to a new Golden Tevinter, but their remaining members have joined with an ancient cult dedicated to the restoration of the Old Gods. This is a missive I stole from a magister attending a party in Nevarra’s capital. Under the roof of King Markus himself, no less, I overheard him trying to convince a member of the Mortalitasi to join them and managed to find this stowed in his room.”

“And why should that worry us?” Cullen asked, skeptical of the danger. “if the Chantry teachings are correct, five of the Old Gods were killed by Grey Wardens. The other two are deep underground, not to mention the unending horde of darkspawn between them and us.” Myra gave the former Templar a hard look.

“Because like any other marshal force, the ranks of the Vena tori were mostly filled by foot soldiers not officers. While you may value your people’s lives, the Ventatori see them as cannon fodder. The majority of the Venatori were not magisters, but those that fell under their sway. You may have wiped out the grunts of the army, but not their generals. Most of those magisters are still alive and hunger for vengeance. The Children of the Dragon claim they can give this to them when they resurrect the Old Gods.” Myra stepped close to Cullen, her voice taking a dangerous edge, “so, Commander, some of the most powerful mages in Thedas and a group of psychotic religious fanatics have combined forces. Is that not worrying?” Brecker stepped in before there was an escalation.

“She may have something here, Cullen. It’s worth consideration if there are still high ranking Venatori still attempting to restore the old empire. In the meantime, I’d like to know more about this cult. It would be good to assess what danger they actually pose.” Cullen frowned, but didn’t argue. Josephine didn’t look too terribly pleased either, but promised to have some of her people see how much influence the Venatori still had in the magisterium.

“Thank you, my lord. Though, not to be blunt, I didn’t come just to deliver the scroll. I need something as well before I return to Denerim.” Myra asked, pleased that her warnings were being taken seriously.  “I heard a friend of mine came to SKyhold and I am most anxious to see him. He is…,” she sighed and shook her head, “I made a promise to someone to keep an eye on them. I’d like to keep that promise.” It seemed a reasonable enough request considering she wasn’t asking for gold or any other material reward.

“Of course, what’s their name?” Brecker said with a smile.

“Anders.”

~  
Myra explained that Hawke had sent her a final message before the battle of Adamant. He was worried that he might not survive this last battle as none had ever successfully breached the fortress’ ancient walls. Even with the diminished number of Wardens and empty griffon weyrs, the jetstone walls still stood as a testament to the memory of the Warden’s former might and dwarven architecture. Hawke had seen it before in the Vinmarks when Corypheus had called the Wardens to free him from his magical prison and the old walls were bathed in new blood. There had been a terrifying moment where he had lost Anders to Justice. The spirit had riled against Corypheus and attacked Hawke with a few shades.

Justice could no longer control Anders, but Corypheus had enslaved the Warden mages. The poor sods had allowed themselves to become bound to demons and were left mindless shells. The thought of Anders with those blank eyes and a demon at his side were too much for Hawke. He would not lose Anders again. So Anders was left behind and contingency plans put in place. He needed people he could trust to take care of his remaining family.

He had sent a similar letter to Aveline in the Free Marches asking her to take care of Carver in his absence. The letter would have arrived to Myra sooner, but she had been in Orlais deep undercover on the Crown’s orders. Anora had feared that the civil war could spill out of Orlais’ borders to spread south and east. The Freemen were known to kidnap people close to Orlais’ borders and force them to fight or even sell into slavery to obtain money for supplies.

With Ferelden still recovering from the Blight and the Mage rebellion, it was not able to stretch it’s forces so widely to protect all those living near Orlais. The best the Crown could do was send people to the borders to watch for these Freemen and report back. If these people did attempt to kidnap people or raid Ferelden settlements, a force would be sent to the border and a letter ordering the Empress to bring her people to heel or risk war. Thankfully, it had never come to that as the Inquisitor helped Celene undermine her cousin and repair her relationship with the new Marquise of the Dales.

It was only much later that the message reached Myra when she had returned to the capital. She had not been able to see Anders herself as she was being sent to Nevarra, but had written him numerous times with no reply. She had feared he had done himself in until a rumor of him being in Skyhold reached her ears.      

“You bastard,” Anders looked almost as surprised as her when Brecker brought her to the healing wing. The blond had been mixing a batch of rejuvenation potions when the bard stormed in.  Brecker thought she was going to punch him before seeing her hug Anders. “How dare you make me worry! Look, I’m going gray because of you,” she tugged at a few silvery strands in her otherwise brown hair.

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’ve been gray since the Qunari tried to annex Kirkwall,” The bard gave him a small slap on the back of the head as she released him, “Myra, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Orlais.”

“Nevarra my dear and don’t change the subject. You didn’t write back for weeks and  next thing I hear, you’re in the Inquisition’s dungeon. How dare you make me worry so much, it’s just mean.” She pouted a bit and gave her friend a once over. “I was so afraid you had been killed or made Tranquil. I would never forgive myself if that had happened. I made a promise to our dear Garrett, remember?” The conversation tuck a more somber note at the mention of the Champion. She sighed, “I should have known you’d cause me no end of trouble. You always had a knack for it.”

“I’m sorry, Myra. You know it wasn’t intentional.” This seemed to smooth things over between them, “not that I’m unhappy to see you, but you can’t just be here to see me.”

“Guilty,” a bit of playfulness returned to her voice, “I just saved the Inquisitor’s life. There’s a group in Tevinter that wants him dead. But I should imagine it’s almost routine for you to have death threats my lord.”        

“Almost. Not as many when I allied with the rebel mages at Redcliffe, but this one is a bit bolder.” Curious as to what their history was he asked, “old friends, then?”

“I met Garrett first actually. My family lived in Lothering when I was a girl. I actually knew the twins Carver and Bethany better when I was growing up. My sister Lyda, Bethany, and I used to play together all the time. We sometimes made Carver join us and even convinced him to let us put flowers in his hair one time.” This made Anders and Myra smile, both imagining the full grown Templar in armor and a flower crown. “I met Anders when the Wardens first took control of Amaranthine, before that mess with that stuck up spirit.” She scrunched her nose at the memory of Justice walking around in Kristoff’s rotting body. She had always made it a point to not be downwind of Justice as the stench got worse.

The Crown had sent a small contingent of its people to assist the Wardens in rebuilding and eliminating the remaining darkspawn that still roamed the more remote areas of the arling. Those that were still there were those that had followed the Mother and had no independent mind like the Architect’s followers. It made them easier to deal with even if they were still numerous. Myra had accompanied the Wardens on a few of their patrols, usually with Anders and Nate Howe. She found Nate to be rather surly at first, preferring the mage’s flirtatious jokes to the archer’s sharp sarcasm. They had enjoyed each other’s company, but it never went further than a few drinks at the Crown and Lion. She had returned to the capital a few months later, not knowing the mage would also be leaving Ferelden in few weeks time. “Imagine my surprise when I find him again in Kirkwall with Bethany’s big brother.”

“We were just as surprised to see you. In the Hanged Man of all places.” The two mages had been invited to a game of Wicked Grace in Varric’s suite when they both spotted a familiar face at the bar. Both had recognized her, and Anders was thankful that their flirting had never extended beyond attempting to drink the other under the table. It had been awkward enough with Isabela and her occasional comments about their one night in the Pearl as he mooned over his handsome dark haired apostate the previous year. After catching up a bit, she had happily joined their little group of friends for a few card games. “I still can’t believe you almost beat Isabela.”

“The best opponent I ever had, she makes Antivan Crows look like fumbling drunks in comparison. I wish I could have had her watching my back when I left for Qarinus. I didn’t dare sleep because I was so sure some slaver was going to sell me in the Minrathous markets the moment I had my guard down.” And Isabela would have been safer with the relic, maybe even found a buyer willing to pay double her weight in gold for the book. It was only a few weeks later that the tentative peace between the Viscount and the Arishok was shattered as the Qunari attempted to cleanse the city in fire. It could have been far worse had Isabela never turned over the book and Hawke been any less of a leader. “You might want to do the same my dear. This Children of the Dragon have a fanatical streak that makes the Qunari seem like shrinking violets in comparison.”

“Never heard of them.” Anders said, “are those your would be assassins?” She nodded and withdrew a small leather bound tome from her bag. It was clearly ancient, the cover flaking off in pieces and barely holding the pages together.

“I found this in one of the forgotten corners of the royal library in Nevarra City. It has the same symbol as the dagger the assassin carried and the brand on the base of his neck. Unfortunately,” she opened the book to reveal barely legible script in a language neither mage had ever seen, “the ink is almost gone and I can’t read what little is left. Any ideas?”

“One or two,” Anders said as he flipped through ha few pages, “some of this looks like Tevene, but never seen some of these characters before. Maybe your Tevinter archivist can do more, Inquisitor. Tell him to put a rune of preservation on it first, to keep it from rotting more. Maybe he’s seen something like this in the Minrathous Circle.” Brecker agreed, Dorian had been able to work wonders with tenuous leads before. He had been the one to find Corypheus’ true name and win House Alamadris’ support after their connection to the madman was discovered.

“I’ll see what Dorian can do,” Brecker took the book with care, “he’ll never admit it, but he loves combing through the dustiest shelves of the library.”

“Good thing, he might be there a while.” Myra commented, “tell him to leave no stone unturned, this cult has been around for a long time. They survived three purges and five blights, don’t underestimate their resources or capabilities.”

“Wonderful. No cult like a well-organized one. I’ll leave you two to catch up.” This was only getting better. They were working with the Venatori, had well placed members in the magisterium, and centuries of resources at their disposal. They were appearing more and more like a legitimate threat to the safety of Thedas rather than a fringe group of maniacs.

~

After walking Anders and Myra to the gardens set aside for reflection, Brecker went to Skyhold’s library to find Dorian. As usual, the mage was surrounded a by a large number of books as he pursued whatever subject had caught his fancy for the day. Given the later period elven symbols on a number of the covers, it appeared to be something about the Dales. He was seated in his favorite plush arm chair in one of the alcoves and taking notes when Brecker found him.

“Hard at work I see,” Brecker said with a small grin.

“I noticed that your library has precious little on the Dales besides Chantry accounts on the Exalted March. I felt it necessary to correct this error. How much information on elven history has been lost because it was never properly recorded or destroyed by Andrastian fanatics.” Dorian placed a fresh quill in the book he was using to mark his spot. He pushed himself out of the chair and walked over to take a quick once over of Brecker, “I hear you had a very interesting morning. Something about an assassin?”

“Would be assassin.” It was splitting hairs and Dorian frowned, unhappy with the answer. “He was killed before he could strike.”

“Good. I do so hate trash being left about. Does your spymaster have people tracking down the dog’s handler?” Brecker held out the book. Dorian took it curiously not understanding at first.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Brecker asked, hoping it would trigger some deep buried lesson on Tevinter history somewhere in Dorian’s brain.

“Hmm, a little. This symbol is used by a cult that worshiped the Old Gods even after the Chantry was established. Though they’re thought to have been extinct since the Black Age. They pissed off the Archon and the Imperial Divine by publically denouncing both. A very bad idea as you might imagine. The Archon had their leaders arrested and executed in front of the Argent Spire as the Divine watched.” Dorian opened the book and examined the contents. “This is written in middle Arcanum. No one in Tevinter has spoken that in nearly four hundred years. Still, give me some time and I may be able to translate.”            

“My brilliant man,” Brecker laughed, loving the look of wonder that flickered in Dorian’s eyes. “How lucky I am to have you.”

“Just brilliant? Last night I was devastatingly handsome and witty, or was that just the wine talking?” Brecker wrapped an arm around Dorian’s waist and kissed his temple.

“My brilliant, supremely handsome, and clever tongued man. Better?” The satisfied quirk of Dorian’s mouth told him yes. As much as Dorian could play the part of pompous prince, he truly did thrive on the affection Brecker gave. A lifetime of secrets liaisons and superficial smiles had made Dorian initially wary of relationships. He had never expected anything beyond a tumble in the sheets. To have more offered, left the cheeky mage speechless. Neither had previous examples to go on, deciding they would make it up as they went. The small, uncertain smile that followed when Brecker told him they were real, more had been the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It made him try every day to make sure Dorian knew how special he was. Even if it was just a compliment or peck on the cheek in full view of everyone.

“A bit. I’m sure we can think of even better ways to put that tongue to use later. Now,” Dorian cleared a space on one of the tables, “let me get started on this. I have a few ideas on what this is…hmm, perhaps a copy of the Arcana Ordo Magna will be useful, oh and have one of the Grand Enchanter’s people send up a couple jars of quillback ash and felandris oil.” One of the Tranquil librarians began gathering some scrolls and books at Dorian’s request, the Tevinter mage almost bouncing with excitement at his newest project. Brecker soon found himself being shooed away and being sent upstairs to speak with Leliana’s people and see what their network could pick up about the assassin.

~

_5 TE_

_Rathana had never been one to take the easiest path. Raised in the Temple of Toth, she had climbed the ranks from acolyte to High Priestess with cunning and sultry feminine guile. As High Priestess, she had won the favor of the previous High King by using divination to seek out a would be assassin. One of the servants attempted to poison his wine with a tasteless powder made from ground wyvern liver. Rathana had the servant taste the wine first, knowing the poison had already been mixed in. The servant’s eyes widened in terror as they knew what would happen. They had never expected to taste the wine, as it was not one of the regular duties. She had smiled a fierce hunter grin as the servant trembled and dropped the cup before trying to flee. The bastard had sung like a bird on the rack, confessing the High Priest of Andoral had put him up to it, promising to make his daughter an priestess and enough gold to keep them fed for two lifetimes. The priest was stripped of his title, but allowed to live on in his private villa on the sea. The servant was tied up, heavy weights attached to his feet, and tossed headfirst into the ocean. Perhaps she pitied the man, he after all, was doing it for the betterment of his child. A child that would likely starve now rather than wear clean white robes. But those feelings were wiped aside as she was rewarded with a pendant carved from a scale of Dumat. A pendant that had been worn by the kings and queens of Qarinus since it’s founding._

_As a child, she had watched the world around her change as Tevinter and Neromenian had united under the Ferryman. She had heard tales of the man, his skill with manipulating the Fade, slaying his uncle to take his rightful place on the throne, and his victories on the dwarven proving grounds. A man that would could control the whole world if given half a chance. A powerful man she had no desire to go to war with. As a queen, she could now do more than watch history carve itself into the world. She could use a chisel and hammer to leave her own mark._

_After some weeks of careful consideration, Rathaana was ready to strike a deal with her fellow monarch. Through courier and code, they had agreed to meet to discuss the terms of an alliance in Minrathous. Her advisors had suggested a union of marriage to tie the cities together and she had agreed it was the best option. An ambassador had been dispatched weeks earlier to bring the request to Darinius’ people and returned carrying a tentative agreement with a personal message from the King himself. Darinius expressed an interest in such an alliance as he was tired of war and wanting to create a lasting dynasty. He offered her and her guard safe conduct to and from the palace in Minrathous to discuss the marriage. She had immediately accepted._

_Upon arrival to the palace, she and her honor guard were escorted to a private room. The guard would wait outside, with only the two monarchs and Darinius’ vizier hearing the negotiations. The vizier was a middle aged man with graying hair that had probably been auburn in his youth and a muscled figure that hinted at a previous military career. Themistocles had been a friend and confidante of the king since childhood. He had been the one to convince his king that this marriage was the best route to long term peace in the region. He was certain that this woman who had been born a commoner would understand that importance of making the right connections._

_“Is it true,” she asked as the vizier pulled out a chair for her, “that you were in the honor guard the day his majesty dueled the usurper Tarsian?”_

_“You make me feel like an old man, your highness, but yes.” He answered with good humor before taking his own seat. “It’s been nearly twenty years now. I can scarce believe it some days, but here we are.”_

_“His majesty must feel lucky to have such a trusted companion at his side all these years. Trust is a rare luxury for those in power.” It was always wise to cozy up to those close to throne and there were none closer than the vizier. He gave a polite smile and nodded, but did not appear as flattered as most men were when Rathana gave them her soft brown eyes and played the coquette. She had thought extolling a few true words would earn his favor. She was wrong, it only seemed to make him more distant._

_“Trust is hard earned your highness. It can take a lifetime to build, but only a single word to destroy.” There was something cold in his eyes that made the young queen realize she was reckoning with a force that would not be conquered by fawning or seduction. He was unshakably loyal to his king and would not shift them to this young, beautiful woman. A silence fell between them, unbroken until Darinius himself finally arrived._

_The king was much like his vizier, a man entering middle age with some gray and sun lines at his eyes, but still robust any soldier in his army. He was warm and welcoming to the young queen. He congratulated her on the thriving trade route she had established with some of the tribes to the south and noted Qarinus’ growing naval fleet. They didn’t have the numbers of Tevinter, but their ships were sleeker and faster than anything sitting in the harbors of Minrathous. In time, they might prove a capable military power if allowed to continue building their ships. Something to consider if their forces were to combine._

_“I have read your proposal,” Darinius stated as he settled back in his chair, stroking his thick beard as he spoke, “and I agree. An alliance of marriage would be an ideal way to join our cities, to share in resources and establish a lasting peace. Tevinter and Neromenian have deep mineral veins, copper, gold, silver, but the land is not as fertile as the valleys of Qarinus, nor does it have the deep aquifers of Carastes.”_

_“It would also give us complete control over the Nocen Sea, and even a chance to take Alam.” This earned a pleased hum from the Archon. He had always been an ambitious man and liked the thought of his fledgling country growing even after his own passing. He appeared to have met a woman that was his match in terms of goals._

_A few terms of territories and the matter of any issue that might come of the union were discussed to be written into a formal treaty at a later date to be signed by both monarchs at the wedding. When the queen was satisfied with the terms she was thanked and her hand kissed by her betrothed before a small number of servants that would serve as her handmaids came to escort her to her future chambers to rest from her journey._

_“Have I done the right thing?” Darinius asked his vizier the moment they were alone._

_“The people are sick of war and long for peace. Trade alliances are too easy to break as we have seen before,” there had been failed attempts at peace with the southern tribes in the past, years where the profits of harvest had gone lean and their ‘friends’ decided war would bring more than trade. “alliances of blood last long after the people who began them have died.”_

_“You are right, as always,” Darinius conceded, “but, I, we…”Themistocles placed a hand over Darinius’ and gave it a soft squeeze. They had shared a lifetime together and could speak entire conversations with barely more than a look and a touch. “This is not the end.”_

_“Isn’t it?” Darinius rested his hand on top of Themistocles’._

_“You know it isn’t. This is politics, not… I have but one heart and already gave it away. And I have no desire to take it back.” His friend and lover of twenty three years shook his head at the uncharacteristic display of emotion. It made a wry smile crawl onto his face._

_“Neither do I.”_


	5. Times Does Not Unwind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to the Dragon Age Comics the Silent Grove and Until We Sleep, both are fantastically done and worth the read. Trigger Warnings, mild references to infidelity and miscarriages.   
> Thanks for all the support everyone, it helps me type this up all the faster! Hope you all continue to enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it. Also, listen to the tavern songs 'Enchanter' and 'Empress of Fire', the line 'reign of the lion' inspired the title to this story.

“How’s your husband?” Anders asked as they sat in one of the numerous alcoves around the garden. The guard that had been assigned to keep an eye on him was instead talking with Mother Giselle. It gave the mage and bard a small ounce of privacy. While there wasn’t anything nefarious to report to Skyhold’s spymaster, it was always a bit unnerving to think of all the ears and eyes on you.

“Ex-husband actually,” Myra crossed her arms, a small bit of bitterness seeping into her posture. “I was in Antiva for a month while King Alistair was attempting to search leads on King Maric’s disappearance. Anora wanted someone she could trust to watch her husband’s back with so many Crows lurking about.” Maric had been held captive by a Tevinter magister that had sought to gain the power of the ancient dragons. A power that Calenhad had been given and used to unite the Alamarri. A power that had lain dormant in the Theirin bloodline. The witch Yavana had hoped to use him to awaken the dragons that slumbered in the Hall of Sleepers. The promise that had never been fulfilled due to Maric’s son killing the witch.

Magister Aurelian Titus had attempted to remove Maric’s power with a strange device that had sent all present into the Fade. An unintended side effect that would cost Aurelian his life when Maric took revenge for all the pain that magister had caused. Rather than follow his son, Varric, and Isabela back to the waking world, Maric chose to stay in the Fade and join all those that had gone before him. His son was angry at him for choosing death, but had respected the decision and made sure to give him a proper Ferelden burial when he awoke. “Long story short, Maric is officially dead.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I think. Ex is it now, what happened?”

“I came home a few days early to find my sister naked and spread eagle with him on top.” Anders raised an eyebrow at the blunt response. But perhaps he should not have been so surprised. Myra had told him before that her relationship with her sister Lyda had been on the rocks for years. Lyda had been matched up with a wealthy merchant’s son when she had been unable to enter the royal court as a bard like her older sister. The marriage had not been a happy one and deteriorated until the husband left her for a lesser noble’s cousin. “I should have known. He bought her a gold necklace with rubies for last Wintersend. All he got me was a new lute, not even a nice one. It had a dent on neck.”

“Could be worse, no children at least. Always worse when children are involved.” She let out a huff and laid a hand over her lower abdomen. Years before, during the Blight, she and a group of scouts had been ambushed by a group of shrieks. All but three of the ten died. Myra had been struck with half a dozen arrows. One had pierced her uterus and the scar tissue had destroyed any chance of carrying a child to term. Anders had felt the large amount of tissue once when he had to heal her after a bandit sliced her with a dagger. He couldn’t remove it, but he could use magic to make the mass of fibrin a bit smaller to make the monthly pains less.

“You aren’t wrong. I hope they have all the smelly, noisy bliss of childbirth and newborns. Maker knows my life is messy enough without dirty nappies.” Myra leaned back against the wall, enjoying the feel of the cool stone through her shirt. Children were lovely, but it was always nice to hand them back to their parents at the end of the day. “Can you imagine me with a squalling baby on my hip as I try to overhear plotting Orlesian nobles.”

“Would certainly make your job much harder,” Anders said, “Garrett liked kids. Used to bring the orphans in Darktown clothes and food, even would let some of the smaller ones sit on his shoulders when he was in the clinic.”

“Sounds like Garrett,” she laughed, “soft spot for anything that remotely resembled a puppy.” She saw the small bit of moisture in the corner of Anders’ eye. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes and took a deep breath that shuddered wetly inside his chest. Myra started to apologize, but the mage cut her off. “No, it’s ok. I want to be able to think of him without it hurting every time.” She laid a hand on his arm and gave a sad smile.

“It never goes away, you just learn to live with it.”

~

Dorian had made some progress in translating the ancient text. Some parts of the book were too worn away for even preservation runes to have any effect, but there was a bit on the history of the group and what appeared to be instructions for a blood ritual. Dorian had moved from the library once it had become late and thought a bit of brandy might be required. The Tranquil who acted as one of the Inquisition’s librarians had made it clear that they did not appreciate the library being turned into a salon and even without emotion made the Tevinter feel as though half a dozen sets of angry eyes were on him when he had pulled out his flask.

Rather than hear a monotone lecture on the effects of alcohol on paper and animal hide, Dorian retired to their quarters. Brecker had been writing a letter to one of his contacts in Orzammar about the numerous quakes along the Storm Coast as Dorian continued to read.

“Find anything yet?” Brecker asked as he melted some wax to seal the letter before stamping it.

“You mean beyond the ramblings of madmen?” Dorian said with a bit a smirk coloring his voice. “There are numerous references to the ‘blood of the Old Gods’, even calling Archon Aurelian Magnus the last vessel. I suppose that with the end of Darinius’ line they saw the death of Tevinter’s golden age.” Brecker set aside the letter to be sent the next morning. He extinguished the lamp on his desk and sat down on the bed next to Dorian.

“Does the blood of the old god’s mean anything to you? And why would Darinius’ blood line be so important?” Dorian gave a slightly exasperated sigh. He always did this when confronted with the fact that most people in the south knew little to no history of Tevinter beyond what the Chantry decided to tell them. Mostly that it was run by blood mages that wanted to eat your puppy or overrun with abominations.

“Amatus, I do find your lack of cultural awareness charming at times, but this is just frustrating. How can you not know the name Darinius? You remember Calenhad and Emperor Drakon, so how is that the founder of human civilization as we know it escapes you?” When this did not jar any long buried lessons, Dorian continued, “Darinius is the father of the Tevinter Imperium, the first of the Archons. He was raised a commoner and earned the throne of Neromenian with his own cunning. He built the foundations of the dwarven surface and united the warring human tribes. He is the pinnacle of what a king should be and no man since has ever come close.”

“Darinius isn’t just another figure in history for you,” Brecker realized. “You see him as a hero.”

“How can I not? He represents what Tevinter was and could be again.” Dorian turned to a page he had marked earlier for further study, “I have a theory or two about the blood of the old gods. There’s an old legend that the night before Darinius dueled his uncle for Tevinter’s throne Dumat appeared to him in a dream and offered him a gift of his blood. It would give him the power to defeat his enemies and in return he would dedicate the city Dumat.” After his victory, Darinius had commissioned the building of grand temple furnished in gold and black marble. Relief carvings of dragons covered the frieze and the cornices. The temple had stood tall in the center of Minrathous for centuries before the First Blight shook the world. After the death of the Archdemon Zazikale, the temple was torn down by a large group of early Andrastians and the stone had been repurposed into a new Chantry. The Archon of the time, Therion, had been furious to see him ancestor’s creation destroyed, but did not dare risk angering the new religious order that was fast gaining momentum. “There seems to be some instructions on a ritual of sorts, involves human sacrifice.”

“So, blood magic then.” Dorian pursed his lips.

“Yes, and no. There’s a bit more to it. There’s also mention of bone and flesh off the old gods in addition to a ‘vessel’. I can’t imagine where they would possibly find any of these things.” Dorian lay back against the pile of pillows against the headboard. He set the book aside and folded his hands over his chest. “As much as I hate to admit it I am not an expert on ancient blood magic.” Before Brecker could ask, Dorian held up a finger, “there is someone who might know more about this ritual.” Given the unhappy look in Dorian’s brown eyes, Brecker had a feeling about who it might be.

“Alexius?” Dorian shook his head.

“My father. He always stressed the importance of knowing the Imperium’s history, even the less than flattering chapters. In our last letter he was the one to tell me about the Liberalum.” It had been this book that had shed light on the true identity of the man Corypheus had been before his trip to the Golden City. Brecker hadn’t known that Dorian’s father had been the one to suggest where to look for the ancient darkspawn’s real name.

“If you think it will help,” Brecker sighed, not sure if he really wanted Magister Halward Pavus involved or not. The magister had not been overly pleased to meet him the last and only time they had met. “Write him and I’ll have Leliana send one of her ravens in the morning. With any luck, we’ll have some answers in a few days.” Brecker shifted and laid down next to Dorian, resting his head on Dorian’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Maker, I thought things would be a bit less insane with Corypheus gone.”

“You’d get bored,” Dorian laughed as he ran a hand through Brecker’s pepper and salt hair. The Inquisitor’s dark brown hair had been turning silver since he was a teenager. A Trevelyan family trait that all his brothers and father had exhibited. Dorian loved the silver, always commenting on how it made him appear distinguished. When he had worn that formal uniform to the ball at the Winterpalace it had taken every ounce of his control for Dorian not to drag the Inquisitor off for a private dance in one of the many vacant bedrooms of the guest wing. “You love traipsing around the countryside, it drives dear Josephine mad tracking you down to get your signature.”

“You would think she would have learned to forge it by now. Her handwriting is so….pretty. Makes mine look like a mabari scribbled it.” Both let out a small laugh, “You may be just a little right. I do like traveling, especially if I can share your tent.”

“Really?” Dorian asked with a sly grin, rolling to face Brecker. His hand slowly move southward from Brecker’s lower back to grip the firm globe of his backside, earning a small groan from his lover. “Well, amatus, perhaps you would like a demonstration of my favorite part of our travels.” Brecker cupped the back of Dorian’s head and pulled him in for open mouth kiss, tongues sliding wetly together.

“Demonstrate away,” Brecker nipped Dorian’s lower lip, earning a hungry look in the mage’s brown eyes.

“You need only ask, amatus.”

~      

They had continued along the ruined road for several days. There were numerous ancient ruins that lined the cobbled road, broken aqueducts and crumbling temples long abandoned. One of the slaves, a young female elf that had first spoken to Garrett, had started to talk more. She had revealed her name to be Luta and that she had come from Denerim. She had been one of those unfortunate souls in the Alienage that had been betrayed by Loghain and sold in the Minrathous slave markets.

“I can barely remember my father’s face,” she had said as the small caravan came to rest for the night. Those that were being kept in the cage were ordered to get out and walk in circle around the camp. They didn’t want the slaves to get weak from lack of exercise or blood clots to form in their limbs. A dead or weak slave was of no use to them. Luta had a strained ankle from a fall and Garrett let her lean on him to cover her injury. Both were certain the punishment for her accident would be her head. “It’s been so long since I heard anything but Tevene, I’ve almost forgotten what the common tongue sounds like.”

“I’m happy to speak it if you will tell me what our ‘friends’ are saying.” Garrett glanced over his shoulder at the huddled group of Tevinter magisters that were sitting on thick wool carpets and drinking from a newly opened cask of white summer wine. 

“Not much,” she stumbled a bit and used Garrett’s bicep to balance herself, “you mostly. Your blood is important to them. It makes some of them angry. They don’t think it’s fair that you’re special.”

“Special? Why?” Garrett asked, careful to keep his voice low. She just shrugged, unable to help him with that question. “Wonderful. Just wonderful. My blood is special. To Tevinter blood mages. Maybe I should just slice my wrists and fill a bucket for them.” He felt Luta grip his arm tight and gaze up at him with terror in her eyes.

“No,” she hissed, “please, you keep the bad ones away.” Her eyes flicked towards the other slaves. Two of them were looking at her with predatory sharpness. They had pawed at her on previous occasions, but were unable to do more with Garrett close by. Garrett had punched one hard enough to knock out a few teeth when he had tried to reach a hand up the girl’s ragged skirt.

“It’s ok, I’m not going anywhere.” Garrett said, patting the elf girl’s back. He was sure that it was true. Before throwing himself at the demon to give the Inquisitor and Stroud time to escape, he had asked them to tell Varric and Anders goodbye. The portal had closed as soon as the Inquisitor went through, leaving him stranded in the Fade. They thought him dead. No one was coming for him.   

~

_2:3 Glory – Minrathous, Imperial Palace_

_“The Archon is dead, long live the Archon.” Aurelian declared to the few present in the mostly empty throne room. Therion’s cold body had been laid in state and dressed in heavy dwarven made armor. Therion had been wounded in one of the last battles of the Second Blight and had been exposed to darkspawn blood through an open wound. With magic and heavy doses of royal elfroot concentrate, Therion had managed to control the sickness for six years. The last year he had declined rapidly and had become bedridden in his last days. He had named his young half-brother, Aurelian, as his heir. Therion had been married at the start of his reign in 1:84, but his wife had died after a stillbirth. He had not remarried or taken a concubine, leaving only his brother to assume his throne. Aurelian was young, but had proved himself a capable warrior in the last years of the Second Blight, even fighting with the Wardens at the Battle of Starkhaven._

_The soon to be crowned Archon stood beside his brother’s body. Every member of the royal family had been buried in the crypts under the Imperial palace. His brother would soon join their father and three older brothers once the members of the magisterium had paid their tribute. “My lord,” a heavy hand landed on Aurelian’s shoulder, “the Grey Wardens have sent a representative from Weisshaupt.” It was Galineus, hero and General of the Imperium’s forces. Galineus had received the Blade of Mercy the previous year and been promoted to the royal council. He had been loyal to Therion to the end, even defending his choice to name Aurelian his successor._

_Aurelian was the son of a favored slave that had been elevated to concubine after his birth. For the child of a slave to become the ruler of the Imperium was insulting for some of the more conservative members of the Altus class. His brother Therion had been smirking the entire time the scribe had been writing down his final wishes. Neither Therion nor Aurelian had been meant to rule. Therion was the fourth son of their father’s legal wife and had been given to the Chantry after his second nameday. He was expected to either become a Templar or be sent to the Circle should he manifest magic. The concubine’s son was treated to the same. Five sons kept close to the court would only lead to infighting and the potential for a civil war. Tevinter had been weakened over the course of two Blights and the march of Andraste. It wouldn’t survive another war._

_Fate had taken a strange turn in 1:83 with the death of the Archon and his two eldest sons in a battle near the Silent Plains. The remaining son died a few days later after falling from his horse and snapping his neck. With no warm body to fill the throne, the magisterium were forced to look at the spares. Therion was crowned within days and whisked away to the front lines. His brother followed him within the year, quickly proving himself in a bloody skirmish on the borders of the Anderfels. After that Aurelian was sent to aid the Grey Wardens in an attempt to relieve the sieged city of Hossberg. He had earned their respect and made several friends, including the hero Corin who slayed the Archdemon._

_Still, it had been years since any of the Grey had reached out to Tevinter. The Order had been busy burning the remaining darkspawn in the Deep Roads and reinforcing Adament. The last time any of the Wardens had contacted the Imperium had been a year after the Battle of Starkhaven when a small contingent asked for permission to enter the dwarven embassy in Minrathous to access the roads nearby._

_“Send the emissary in,” Aurelian quietly said, smoothing an invisible crease in his brother’s cloak. Galineus nodded and gave his shoulder a pat. The general had been a mentor to both brothers, a father even to the younger of the two. He returned to the chamber a minute later with two men and a woman dressed in ceremonial grey and blue. One of the men removed his winged griffon helm and gave a small bow. Given his pale hair and eyes, likely a native of the Anderfels. There was a sharpness in his gaze that suggested a man accustomed to authority._

_“My lord, this is Warden Constable Tyr Martel,” the Warden was clearly a mage by the staff strapped to his back. An interesting choice for the Wardens, sending a mage to Tevinter. They were clearly trying to curry the favor of the Imperium. Aurelian put on a political smile as he walked over to ambassadors._

_“Always a pleasure to have your Order grace the Imperium’s halls,” Aurelian noted the long scar that crossed the Warden’s left cheek. It had been inflicted some time ago, leaving only a thin white line. Aurelian had seen such scars before on those that had been where the fighting had been heaviest. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”_

_“Your brother was very generous to our Order. The Warden Commander of Nevarra would have come himself, but he was recalled to Weisshaupt by the First Warden.” He had a strong Orlesian accent, not what Aurelian would have expected. “I understand you and Commander Tython fought together at Starkhaven.”_

_“Yes, though he was only a Senior Warden when we met.” One of the other Wardens had removed a dark wooden box from under their cloak and passed it to the Warden Constable. The Warden unlatched the box to reveal a shining pendant nestled in black velvet._

_“A gift from the Order to commemorate your impending coronation.” Aurelian lifted the pendant, inspecting the ancient seal burned onto it’s surface. He recognized it, every member of the Imperial royal family did. It was the seal of the Ferryman. “This was found in the vaults of Orzammar by one our archivists after the Battle of Nordbotten and entrusted to our care since the end of the First Blight. We felt it was time to return it to the proper owner.”_

_“A gift from the old god Dumat, one of his own scales.” Aurelian clipped the chain around his neck, the dragon scale coming to rest just over his heart. No Archon had worn this in nearly four hundred years after it had become lost in the early years of the Blight. He wasn’t sure it was a scale from Dumat or just another high dragon, but it was a piece of his family’s heritage. Something that only Therion had ever allowed him to share in. “Thank you Warden Martel, truly.” The Warden’s pale eye’s crinkled at the corners in good humor. The sharp gaze in those grey eyes softened. His eyes were actually quite pleasant if the soon to be king were honest. “Galineus, have one of the servants prepare rooms in the Royal Wing for our guests.” The general gave a small look of surprise, but it vanished before anyone could see. The Royal Wing was reserved only for members of the Imperial family and close friends, not visiting ambassadors. Still, he would not question his soon to be king. Not in front of the Wardens at least._

_“As you command, my lord. Wardens, if you would follow me.” The Wardens gave one last bow before being led out of the throne room. As the Wardens walked away, the Warden Constable and Aurelian shared a look of…something. It only lasted seconds, but both remember it for the rest of their lives._


	6. The Wrath of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter Chapter, but look who finally makes an appearance. Again, I want to thank everyone for the kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks. You all make this both fun and fulfilling. Chapter is dedicated to my longtime friend Kate who inspires me to the best person I can every day. Thanks for everything hon!

**_Those who oppose thee_ **  
**_Shall know the wrath of heaven._ **  
**_Field and forest shall burn,_ **  
**_The seas shall rise and devour them,_ **  
**_The wind shall tear their nations_ **  
**_From the face of the earth,_ **  
**_Lightning shall rain down from the sky,_ **  
**_They shall cry out to their false gods,_ **  
**_And find silence._ **

\- Canticle of Andraste (7:19)

As he dreamt, Brecker found his sleeping mind drawn to a strange place. It resembled the Temple of Mythal nestled deep in the jungles of the Arbor Wilds. The elven architecture with it’s vaulted arches and brightly colored glass mosaics were almost identical, but for the lack of overgrowth and numerous braziers that were lit with veil fire. There were no whispers or shadows of other dreamers in this part of the Fade. In fact, there was no sound at all besides the echo of Brecker’s boots against the stone floor. This did not make Brecker feel as though he were alone though.

There was a pathway lined with statues of halla and wolves at evenly spaced intervals. The statues appeared as real as any Brecker might find in the mortal realm. Looking closely at one, he could even see the remnants of old chisel marks. If not for the slight hazy tint of the sky, he could have mistaken this dream for reality.

The statues seemed to follow him with their unmoving stone eyes as he passed. He fought the urge to turn around, not wanting to act like a frightened child on his first Fade walk. The path led to a steep staircase that had blocks of red and white marble interspaced in an alternating pattern. On some of the blocks were runes similar to the hidden glyphs of the Exalted Plains, but others were nothing the Inquisitor had ever seen before.

From what few runes he could read, the characters told a story of the elven gods and a war they had waged on each other long ago. So caught up in trying to decipher the language, he almost tripped over the top step.

“Andaran atish’an, my friend.” Brecker’s eyes widened as he recognized the speaker.

“Solas,” the elf was much the same as their last encounter with Corypheus. Still dressed in the same slightly worn traveling robes and carrying a staff with three dragon heads. There was something different about him, an air of…more. Brecker tried to focus on his friend, but Solas’ form would shift and return within a blink. In those tiny seconds, he could see another creature in Solas’ space. Somehow, he saw the creature existing in the same plain as Solas, but not. A great wolf that was larger than a horse with glowing blue eyes and teeth sharp as knives. Then it would vanish and the elf would return. “Is that you? What are you doing here?”

“Yes, what you see is true” both wolf and elf said at the same time, in the same voice. Brecker’s skull ached from the strain of hearing both. “I called you here to this sacred place. This temple where so many once came to petition Andruil for protection on their hunts. Those who were undergoing the rite of the first hunt would offer their first kill as a sacrifice in her name. So many joyous celebrations, now all the remains is silence.” Brecker would normally enthralled to hear about lost history, but his head felt like it was being crushed. A spurt of blood came from his nose and another from his left ear.

“Wha…oh, Maker it hurts,” Brecker clutched at his forehead, trying to will the intense pressure behind his eyes away. A strong feeling of vertigo hit him and he dropped to his knees, now clutching at his temples. The elf saw the pain his friend was in and stopped speaking.  Solas reached out and a small pale orb appeared in his hand. He pressed the orb to the top of Brecker’s head and the pain stopped.

“Forgive me, it has been a long time since I have spoken with my full power. Humans were always more fragile than the People.” Solas helped the Inquisitor back to his feet. Brecker wiped the blood from his upper lip, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“Solas…what are you?” The elf gave him one of his mysterious, yet kind smiles.

“More complicated than we have time for. Just know that I am here to help. You were attacked my friend, by a cult dedicated to the old gods, is that not correct?” Brecker couldn’t help but shake his head fondly at the response. It was just like Solas to dodge a question by bringing up more questions.

“The Children of the Dragon, I just had Dorian write a letter to his father to ask for information.” Solas nodded and motioned for the Inquisitor to walk with him. Brecker could no longer see the wolf and elf in the same plain, but noticed that Solas’ shadow was canine shaped. Another question for another time. They left the open square at the top of the stairs for an open door into the inner sanctuary of the Temple. As with the Temple of Mythal, there were more of the high vaulted ceilings and layered arches. The mosaics were all depictions of Andruil in various tales. Some Brecker could recognize, but most he couldn’t. At the center of the sanctuary was a fountain with a large statue of a woman in hunting gear and a bow bent at the ready. Along the bow was a single point of light where the arrow head would be.

“You do not have the luxury of time. The cult is gathering the last of their ritual objects now that they have their blood sacrifice.” Brecker felt his heart speed up a bit. Things were already in motion against him. “You must stop them before they kill the Champion. If he dies, Dumat will rise again.”

“The Champion?” Brecker said, then a profound sense of disbelief nearly toppled him, “oh, Maker, you don’t mean..”

“Hawke, yes.” Solas confirmed, “he survived the Nightmare and was summoned from the Fade by mages sworn to this cult. Hawke is the last living mage of a very ancient bloodline and wasn’t even aware of it. His ancestor drank the blood of an old god and gained considerable power. A power he used to unite the tribes of the Tevinter Imperium.”

“Hawke is Tevinter royalty?” Brecker almost laughed. Dorian would just love to hear this. The mighty Tevinter Imperium’s heir was a Ferelden apostate. Half of the magisterium would faint from the shock.

“His ancestors were, yes. Hawke himself would not be considered worthy to take a seat even in the lower house of the Senate. What matters is he will be sacrificed at the temple of Dumat Triumphant in the Hundred Pillars. His blood is the key to summoning the spirit of the old god from the far reaches of the Fade back to the mortal world.” Solas sat down on one of the benches beside the fountain, studying the water as it reflected a light that was nowhere to be seen. “I wish I could help you more, but I must stay here for now. I must help my people and I cannot do it from your side. Not when your spymaster knows I gave Corypheus the orb.”

“You can always atone, Solas.” Brecker offered, hoping the elf would consider returning to Skyhold. “We’re still rebuilding and we could use your insight. You want to help the elves? Come with me and show me what to do.” Solas gave him one of his sad smiles that reached his eyes. Those eyes that carried the weight of millenias of regret.

“I will atone, Inquisitor, and if it requires my life I will give it. But not before helping the People. I can reach the old dreams and memories in this place. I can return the knowledge that was stolen to the slumbering mages, perhaps even a dreamer if any still exist.” The air seemed to grow hazier as Solas spoke, “it is almost time to wake. I wish you luck, my friend. For all our sakes.”

~

Brecker shot up as wakefulness slammed into him. He was shaking and panting, jostling his bedmate. Dorian had been partially sprawled on top of him in his sleep. The Tevinter mage was a cuddler, always providing a mage shaped blanket to keep his amatus from freezing.

“Bad dream?” Dorian asked groggily, mildly annoyed that his human pillow had woken him up hours before the first light of dawn.

“I saw Solas. He had a message for us.” This caught Dorian’s curiousity. He had never been overly fond of the elf, but he had respected him before learning of his involvement with Corypheus. “Hawke is alive. He’s the human sacrifice the book mentions.”

“Hawke’s alive? Maker’s blood, are you sure?” Dorian now looked puzzled, “why would he be the sacrifice? Surely there are other people this cult would go after.”

“Solas said he was the last living mage of Darinius’ bloodline.” Brecker climbed out of bed, pulling on a pair of breeches. “We have to get a move on now. They’re headed to the Hundred Pillars to perform the ritual as we speak.” Dorian groaned and fell back against the pillows at the head of the bed.

“I suppose it is too much to ask for madmen who respect the need for sleep.” Brecker shook his head at his lover’s flounce. He grabbed one of Dorian’s ankles and began tugging him out of their bed. “Fine, just give me a moment.”

“I’m going to wake Varric and Anders, grab some potions from the undercroft and we’ll meet you in the war room.”  Brecker leaned over to give Dorian a quick kiss, “once more into the breach, my love. Don’t pretend you don’t love the excitement.”

“It is rather entertaining to watch you beat your enemies into submission. Especially when it involves you setting them on fire.”

~

_They had taken to sleeping on different bed rolls with a healthy bit of space between them. To make it feel even lonelier, Garrett sleeps with his back to him. They still say their good nights and Anders will tell him 'I love you' with only an 'I know' for response. He told himself it could be worse. He could be on his own and Garrett a thousand miles away. It becomes harder to tell himself that as each day passes. Garrett became increasingly distant, barely acknowledging him in recent days. He might as well still be in the Free Marches some times._

_He watched Garrett's back as he attempted to sleep. So desperate for the touch of his love, he placed his hand on the nape of Garrett's neck. He chokes back a sob as he buried his fingers in black locks. Garrett moved away briefly and Anders' heart ached until Garrett rolled to his other side to face him. Garrett then pulled him into his arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He shook hard and felt tears slip from his eyes. Garrett just held him tight and tucked his blanket around both of them. For the first time in days, an uneasy relief came over him. He was so terrified of losing the only person he had ever loved. He had once said he would drown them in blood to keep Garrett safe. Garrett had thought he was exaggerating at the time, even joking about how hard blood stains are to get out of clothing. Garrett had grown up an apostate and never knew the utter terror that came with the Templars discovering your relationship was more than a quick fumbling in a closet. The sorrow of being ripped away from a kindred spirit or knowing you would likely never see them again. For three years, Anders would wake up and dread the first few seconds of not knowing if the Templars had finally come to take Garrett away or another night had passed without incident. Thank the Maker Garrett was a possessive sleeper, he rarely woke to find himself not entangled in a pile of limbs._

_For three years, the promise to do anything to keep Garrett safe was just words. Then, Meredith's madness began to overtake her and he feared Garrett's status would not protect him much longer. Justice had railed at the horrible acts she and her Templars had committed. The mages made Tranquil and locked away in their prison. The injustice of it all spurred the spirit inside him to scream and rage at his host. They could not allow these atrocities to continue. How many innocent men and women must suffer before justice was satisfied? How long till Garrett paid the price? Those insecurities pushed him to act. He had promised to drown them in blood. He had to prove it._

_The Chantry had proven how serious he had been. Garrett had been so shocked when the dust settled, barely able to string together two syllables. There was a brief appearance of a knife that should have pierced his heart, but it was put away. Instead, a chance to save the innocent mages was given. The bridge that has nearly burned down to cinders was still there. To fragile to cross at first, but new planks were slowly added to replace what was lost._

_"Garrett, love. I miss you." He whispered against the other mage's neck._

_"I know." Garrett ran a hand up and down his back, "I love you too. Should have told you that." The relief allows him to relax, almost going limp after so much anxiety. "I said till the day we die. I meant it. I still do." Anders pressed close, not wanting anymore space between them. This close he could inhale the warm musky scent of Garrett's skin and was soothed the familiarity. He could sleep now that he was assured of Garrett's love. Justice grumbled a bit at the back of his mind about distractions, but he told the spirit to be quiet. They had sacrificed and nearly lost everything. Surely Justice could give him this one thing. Surely Justice would not take Garrett away._

_As the mages slept, the spirit continued to stew unhappily in the far corners of Anders' mind. It had allowed Anders to pursue a relationship with the Champion because he supported mage freedom. Now that they were on the run, nothing would be done to continue the fight so long as Anders was fixated on mending Garrett's trust. The Champion had started to become a hindrance. Such a thing would not be tolerated._


End file.
